


Foreboding, et al.

by Actually_Crowley



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Hate Crimes, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Suicide Attempt, Physical Abuse, Psychic Abilities, lots of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-11-28 05:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actually_Crowley/pseuds/Actually_Crowley
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak has had a fear of being touched for the greater majority of his life, with very good reason.  Touching someone who's meant to die before their time results in horrible, immersive visions of exactly how it happens.  When he's rescued by a good simaritan who's death is by far one of the worst he's ever experienced, he's going to have to push past his fear and go against every rule he's given himself to prevent it from happening.





	1. One Kind Act

“I hate this so much.”

“You were the one who wanted to do lunch, Eddie.”

“That was before I knew this was place was gonna be more packed and cramped than Satan’s fucking gym locker out here.”

Eddie Kaspbrak was pressed rather hard into the side of one Stanley Uris as they walked down a rather bustling street in Los Angeles, California. They’d freshly moved away from good ol’ New York, New York barely a week ago, and Stanley had started his new job mere hours after their flight had landed. Now on day eight, Eddie had decided to leave the safety of their apartment to find a good lunch spot.

He’d never made a bigger mistake.

Tucked up under Stan’s arm, he kept close to the buildings as they moved. Stanley acted as a shield between him and the scores of people, a position he’d been used to filling for years. Truthfully, this had been his position for most of their lives. Stanley and Eddie had known each other since the third grade, and since the beginning of high school, they were nearly inseparable. They had roomed together in college, and both moved in together in New York after graduation. This was to ensure that they were far enough away from home that visiting their family was inconvenient to do more than once or twice a year. It wasn’t that they didn’t love their families, but lord did they make it hard.

This move to LA had been a long time coming. Stan had stopped going home to Derry when his family made it clear they were never going to be happy with the choices he’d made. He’d stopped going home after his family’s third attempt to introduce him to a nice girl.

Eddie had cut off ties with his mother nigh entirely, so the move wasn’t really something that affected him. He’d not been on good terms with her since he was about four if he were keeping track. He’d barely remembered his father, but the loudest and clearest memory was watching him die. His mother had never been the same after that. Perhaps it had been Eddie’s fault in some way, but he knew it had never been anything he could help. Eddie was a constant source of her stress, and he didn’t want to stick around and keep being the reason his mother was miserable. He wouldn’t give her that ammunition.

And so he lived with his best friend of nearly twenty years across the country in a city of heathens (according to his mother anyway). Which was a perfectly reasonable thing to do for someone trying to take control of their life.

But Eddie also suffered, for as long as he could remember, from a phobia of touch. He’d just moved from one bustling city full of people to another, and that was not about to get any better.

Especially when he decided to bite the bullet and try going outside in the middle of some festival. It was the worst case scenario, and just getting downtown had been hell. At least for the rest of this journey, he had Stan the wall-- the only person he was comfortable touching.

“It’s just here,” Stan said, gesturing toward a cafe a bit further up.

“Thank _ fuck, _ I’m losing my damn mind out here.”

“Just take a breath and try not to think about it, okay?” Stan said, pulling away enough to open the door for Eddie.

Eddie scoffed and pulled his heavy coat closer around his shoulders. “I have to think about it so I’m prepared when it happens. You clench before you jump into cold water, so you don’t go into shock, it’s the same thing.”

“I don’t even want to go over what’s wrong with that sentence,” Stan mused, chuckling a bit.

Eddie walked in first and immediately continued hating his decision. The cafe was packed, as restaurants in bustling cities were wont to do, and it was a minefield of bodies to try and dodge to get to any free tables. Eddie huffed and turned back to Stan. “Ya know what, maybe we try this some other time.”

“Eddie, you are already here. I know it’s not ideal, but this city gets like this a lot. Maybe this is good to just,” Stan gestured vaguely in the air to the space, “see how bad it’s going to be.”

“It’s going to be bad. Stan, it’s going to be _ awful.” _

“Two?”

Eddie flinched away from the sudden voice behind him, half colliding with Stan. He turned around and found a host standing there with a smile on her face.

“I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Her smile remained in place. “Just two today?”

Eddie nodded sharply. “Booth,” he said.

“Please,” Stan finished.

The host nodded with a pursed smile and grabbed some menus. “Right this way.”

Eddie weaseled past the artistically arranged tables, dodging stray brushes from as many strangers as he possibly could along the way. They were seated in the corner, a clearly undesirable table, but perfect for Eddie to tuck into and put plenty of space between him and the potential of contact with other people.

As soon as the host left, Eddie released the breath he was holding and opened the menu.

He could feel Stan staring. “Eddie, are you really okay with this move?”

Eddie tilted his menu down. “Yes, I’m fine with it. Are you going to ask me that everytime I complain?”

“Well you complain everyday, so yeah, I’m gonna keep asking.” Stan glanced down at his menu with a sigh. “And it’s not like I don’t get it, you know I do. I just don’t want you to put yourself in a bad place because of _ me.” _

Eddie set his menu on the table and sighed. It wasn’t often that Stan did this-- not so much in their older age-- but he occasionally felt like Eddie’s discomfort was his fault. Stan led a rather normal life. He was a jumpy guy, but he didn’t have the same obstacles as Eddie. The only problem Stan could possibly have beside perhaps a few self-esteem issues was Eddie himself. “Stan, I’m not going to be in any better of a situation anywhere else in the world unless I want to go be a hermit in a cave somewhere. I’m everywhere I don’t want to be because of _ me, _ not you. Okay, so don’t worry about it.”

Stan arched a brow at him and gave him an apologetic smile. “Well thank you for moving with me anyway, then. I know this is hard for you.”

“Hey, I had to get as far from Derry as I could, just like you. Don’t make it weird.” Eddie tried a smile. “Not like I could trade you for any other roommate. Not like anyone else knows my whole… thing.”

Stan stared cautiously. “You’ve never thought of telling _ literally anyone else? _ Just me?”

Eddie looked back down at the menu. “...You know it’s harder than that, Stan.”

Stan reached across the table and took Eddie’s hand in his own, squeezing it. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

The looked over the menus in silence until their server arrived. Eddie put on his best ‘everything is all right’ face, and Stan either smiled or did the same. “Hey guys, I’m Sydney, I’ll be your server today. Do you know what you’d like?” he asked, hand poised with a pen on his notebook.

“Sprite and a Caesar salad please.” Stan said, folding his menu and holding it out to the man.

“I’ll just have a water and the apple and brie sandwich,” Eddie said, giving the menu another once over before closing it.

Sydney finished jotting the orders and gave them both another customer service smile. “All right, I’ll get those orders in for ya. I’ll go ahead and take that,” he gestured at Eddie’s menu.

Before Eddie could set it on the table like he’d planned, Sydney reached over, ever the eager employee apparently, and snatched it right from Eddie’s hand.

Their fingers brushed for that fleeting second, and the world beneath Eddie swallowed him up, punching the air from his lungs.

_ Gurgling, breathing hurts. _

_ Beeping? Heart monitor? _

_ Wheezing. Can’t breathe. So tired. _

_ Hands thin, older, trembling, blurry infinity tattoo. _

_ Is she crying? Somebody hold her, please, please-- _

_ Vision is going. _

_ Too dark, so dark. _

_ Can’t breathe. _

_ Can’t breathe. _

** _Can’t breathe._ **

Eddie snapped back against the wall so hard he felt his muscles protest. He’d gasped for air he’d forgotten how to breathe and pressed himself into the wall as hard as he possibly could, staring at nothing with wide, terrified eyes.

Stan was nearly standing, and their poor server gripped his notebook with a hand that sported a clean, relatively new infinity tattoo just under his thumb. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“It’s okay! He’ll be okay, I’m sorry, he’s got a touch phobia.”

“No, don’t apologize, that’s not his fault.” Sydney held his hands to his chest as he leaned toward Eddie without crowding him. “Are you okay sir? I’m so sorry-”

Eddie inhaled sharply. _ “I’m fine, _ stop making it a big deal, and take fewer smoke breaks for fuck’s sake, that vape isn’t doing you any favours.”

Stan pursed his lips and dropped his head. “He’s also an asshole, and I’m definitely sorry about _ that.” _ Stan lifted his head to the stunned and stealthily offended server. “Just-- go please, I got him, give us a minute.”

Sydney nodded weakly and walked away.

Stan reached out and curled his hand over Eddie’s shoulder after the restaurant filled with the hum of activity again. “What was it?” Stan asked, voice kept as low as he could.

Eddie’s hand tapped out a nervous pattern on the table. “L-... Lung cancer. I think.”

“How long?”

Eddie twitched and shook his head. “I dunno, twenty years? Maybe-... Maybe thirty.”

Eddie’s phobia of touch didn’t stem from some fear of germs or illness. It didn’t even stem from a fear of people. If Eddie came in contact with someone who was going to die in some awful way, before their natural time, he saw and experienced it all.

He lived the horrible deaths of others. Of all of the psychic abilities fate could have bestowed upon Eddie, he’d drawn potentially the shortest straw.

“Do you need me to get you anything?” Stan asked, hand firm on Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie shook his head, dropping his face low in his hands.

“Do you need some air?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. It wasn’t that bad.”

Stan studied his face for a few more seconds before nodding. “Okay. I’ve got you. You know that, right?”

Eddie nodded.

Stan took his hand gently again and squeezed. “All right.”

Eddie took a shuddery breath and covered his face. “Sorry…”

“It’s okay, Eddie.”

It really wasn’t.

~

The rest of their lunch went down without any fanfare. Their server was understandably salty for the rest of the meal, but he didn’t let it go beyond his face, filling their drinks in a timely fashion and clearing plates as soon as they were empty. Stan covered the bill, and Eddie got the tip-- an overcompensating twenty dollar bill over a quick note at the bottom of the receipt: _ Please stop smoking. The world deserves you. _

He hurried out before Sydney could see the note and respond.

Eddie felt mostly powerless. This ability had been with him for as long as he could remember, and it had, predictably, been the reason for everything that had ever gone wrong in his life. His sugar-glass delicate relationship with his mother, for example, had been shaky since he could first voice the things he’d seen and, at the ripe old age of four, asked if daddy was sick. Six short months later, a brain tumor took the man from them, and Sonia could only speculate how on earth Eddie had seen it coming. Maybe she resented him. Maybe she blamed him. Eddie had never asked.

He learned early that nobody liked it when you were the bearer of bad news. It made you the weird kid, going around telling people they were going to die. Eddie grew up having seizures or panic attacks or bouts of fainting after touching those who would die sooner than they should, and he was in and out of the hospital getting scans and tests until he couldn’t see straight. Nobody had any answers. So seven year old Eddie decided that touching people was bad. Not that he could help it every time. A little girl in his first grade class hugged him after he helped her color a picture, and the school nurse puzzled over how such an act made the poor boy faint. Two weeks later, he found out from his teacher that the little girl was never coming back to school. He kept the explicit details of the car accident that took her to himself.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to walk you back to the bus stop? Or give you a ride?” Stan asked, keeping that protective arm around him for a while longer. They were in front of his new worksite-- a tall building in which Stanley worked on the twelfth floor-- and they were seconds from parting ways.

Eddie shook his head. “No, I can make it from here. I’ve just gotta make it down the street, I’ll be fine.”

Stan gave him a soft smile. He tucked his hand behind Eddie’s head and pulled him closer, kissing his forehead. “Call me if anything happens before you get home. I’ll come get you, wherever you are.”

Eddie nodded softly. Then he lifted his head and locked eyes with Stan. “You know you don’t owe me anything,” he whispered, keeping that gaze.

Stan’s smile trembled, but it held fast. “You know that’s not true.” He rubbed Eddie’s shoulders once more and turned away, walking back into the building and disappeared beyond the glass.

In the third grade, Eddie had gone over to talk to a quiet, tall boy who also seemed to avoid the larger crowd of children. That boy had avoided them for their potential to be cruel, but he still seemed a safe bet. With such a lonely childhood behind him, it was good for Eddie to find at least one person to talk to. Still, he was secretive with young Stan. He sat with him at lunch, he shared his snacks, but he never, ever touched him. He never told him too much about himself or his family. He watched Stan grow into a sad teenager, and he kept his distance anyway.

For six years, Eddie had avoided it, but like all unfortunate things, it was inevitable that it would happen one day. Early in their freshman year, Stan had leaned just a bit too close, just a hair too far, and his hand brushed Eddie’s without even meaning to. Eddie threw himself away from Stan so quickly that Stan had recoiled as well, backing into an opposite wall and staring wide at Eddie like he’d slapped him.

The image of Stan’s death had been horrible. Eddie had flitted out of his own existence and popped into Stan’s, watching him peel off painfully familiar clothes and fold them neatly on the sink. He watched him fish a set of razors out of a drawer and settle into the hot water. He’d felt the bite of the blades into his wrists and felt the consciousness slowly leave him, his eyes burning with fear and resolve at once.

When he’d snapped out of it, clutching his chest and trying to keep from hyperventilating, he watched Stan, eyes hurt and face red, apologize softly and walk away, tugging that same, painfully familiar, pastel shirt collar tight in his fist.

Eddie had gone home, initially. He told himself that what he saw was something that would always come to pass. It was unavoidable, and there was nothing he could do. There was no one he could tell who could stop it, and there was no adult that would take him seriously anyway. Nobody would believe the weird boy who was obsessed with death and scared of people.

But Stan had been his only friend for six years, and he couldn’t let it happen. Fuck fate. Fuck not being able to do anything. Fuck keeping it all in. Stan deserved better. And so, at nine o’clock in the evening, Eddie was banging on the Uris’ door, giving no explanation to Stanley’s father as he marched past the man and found the locked bathroom door, begging for Stan to come out and talk to him.

Stan hadn’t had the chance to even undress when he opened the door, and Eddie threw his arms around him as tightly as he could, burying his face in Stan’s shoulder and begging him not to go, _ pleading _ for him to stay and not leave him all alone. Stan, stunned and scared into silence, only held him back and dropped his head into Eddie’s neck, sobbing that he was sorry.

Against his better judgement (and perhaps in his great confusion), Stanley’s father had allowed Eddie to spend the night. That was where everything came out. His father’s death, the little girl, the dozens of other people who had died or were going to die, his hesitancy of touching anyone he likes for fear of watching them die horribly. He said it all while holding Stan’s hands tightly in his own.

Stan bared his own soul, talking about his feelings of inadequacy that he’d had for years of being unable to make friends or appease his parents. They had only gotten worse when high school began and his father showed disdain for the classes he chose. It came to a head the moment he thought that his best friend-- his _ only _ friend-- found him repulsive. He thought he’d never be good enough.

The boys had slept wound around each other that night. Perhaps Stan still had some fear when he fell asleep, but Eddie was happy. He was there, arms around his tall friend, and not a single vision plagued his mind. Stan was going to live. He’d cried himself to sleep for all the right reasons. He’d done it. He’d saved somebody.

Ever since, Stan has sworn that he owed Eddie his life, no matter how much Eddie tried to deny it.

Eddie paced back toward the bus stop carefully. His thick jacket was enough to save him from the shoulder bumps, but after years and years of conditioning, just being around so many people was enough to up Eddie’s heart rate. It would have been infinitely better if Stan _ had _ walked him this far, but he couldn’t keep asking that of him.

Contrary to popular belief, Eddie and Stan were not together. Sometimes Eddie thought it would be easier if they were, but they had long since agreed that they just weren’t the right people for each other. However, neither of them had actually made any effort to go and find the right person. For Eddie, the reason was obvious; he was callous and grating and gave unsolicited health and safety advice and had a phobia of touch, the last of which was generally a pretty big obstacle when it came to relationships.

Stan’s only obstacle was Eddie.

Somebody bumped Eddie too hard, and he flinched rigid, hands stuffed in the safety of his pockets. He’d been bumped into another person who carefully apologized, and he snapped his head in the direction of whoever jarred him. “Watch it, asshole!” He managed giving the unfortunate bystander a nod before hurrying back down the sidewalk.

Ahead, the crowd was even more dense. It looked as if an event had let out of one place, just in the way of Eddie’s precious bus stop, and he was going to have to wade through--

“‘Scuse me!” A woman placed a hand on his back, brushing the back of his neck.

_ Can’t see. Cold. Wet? _

_ Darkness? Floating, flickering light. _

_ Underwater. _

_ Meter’s low. _

_ Meter’s low. _

_ Stop hyperventilating, you don’t have the oxygen. _

_ Rock won’t move. _

_ Caved in. _

_ Does anybody know I’m _ ** _down here?_ **

_ Trapped. _

** _Cold._ **

_ Meter’s low. _

** _Meter’s low._ **

Eddie jerked away from the gentle nudge with so much force, it looked like he’d been thrown. He freed his hands from his pockets to stop himself, bracing against a man--

_ Can’t focus. _

_ Hollywood sign is so pretty. _

_ Driving. Speeding. _

_ Too fast. _

_ Shouldn’t have had all that rum. _

_ Where’s the road? _

_ Where’s the ground? _

_ Only sky. _

** _Careening._ **

_ Downward and _ ** _downward and--_ **

“Guh!” Eddie shoved himself away from the man, who turned to look at him with an angry scowl.

“What’s your problem, man?” he asked, gesturing with his beer bottle.

Eddie’s throat felt like it was closing up. “You better not be driving with that, asshole, some of us wanna live,” he managed in one, solid whisper of panic.

He had to leave. He had to go.

He squeezed his eyes shut and muscled past a veritable wall of humans, hoping against hope that he was heading in the right direction of the bus stop--

_ Lost my ball. _

_ “Baby!? Kevin, stay out of the road!!!” _

** _Where’s my ball?_ **

He had to get away from these people.

_ It’s just a routine surgery. _

_ It’s _ ** _going to_ ** _ be _ ** _fine._ **

Eddie’s vision was growing dark at the edges, and his eyes were watering. He must have looked insane, skittering down the sidewalk, breathing too heavily and crying. He probably looked like a drug addict, but he didn’t care. He had to get away from everyone. He had to get away.

“Woah, are you all right, sir?” A well meaning hand caught his arm.

Eddie snatched it away and kept walking. “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me, nobody touch me, please, don’t _ fucking touch me.” _ He was sure he was nearly chanting it now. His vision was blurry--

_ Can’t breathe. _

_ Is there _ ** _shrimp_ ** _ in this? _

“Don’t touch me, don’t touch me.”

_ “Is it better if I stand here? Take the picture, this is _ ** _really high!”_ **

“Don’t touch me, _ don’t touch me!” _

“Hey buddy?”

“Don’t touch me--”

“Hey. Hey!”

_ “Don’t fucking--” _

“Look out!”

The next thing Eddie knew, he was being tackled. His back hit the ground and knocked the panicked wind out of him, and another, warm body was on top of his. Half a second after he hit the ground, a bus blaring its horn sped past, right over where Eddie had been standing.

The man who’d tackled him stared after the bus and whistled. “Fucking assholes. Speeding through here like there’s not a million people out today.”

Eddie could barely focus on the man. He had messy hair, he wore glasses and a ridiculously patterned button down shirt, and he could make out the shadow of facial hair. The face turned to Eddie and looked concerned. “You all right, man?” the stranger asked.

Eddie wanted to answer. He wanted to say yes and find enough words to thank the man, seeing as he’d just saved Eddie’s life. But the man put a steadying hand on his shoulder and grazed his neck with his thumb.

_ Bleeding. Nose is probably broken. _

_ Black eye for sure. _

_ Ribs are cracked. _

_ “Say somethin’ now, funnyman!” _

_ A kick. Blossoming pain. _

_ “Not so tough without your fancy posse, are you?” _

_ “You’re the… fuckers who can’t take a j-guh-joke. Gck...” Blood gurgling in his throat. _

_ Another kick. _ ** _A crunch._ **

_ “You think you’re fucking funny.” _

_ A stomp. Three looming figures. _

_ “I charge… extra for foursomes.” _

_ A kick to the face. _

_ Vision swimming. _

_ A sound. Metal on metal. _

** _Sharp agony._ **

_ “You fucking _ ** _faggot.”_ **

_ Guilt. Shame. _ ** _Fear._ **

_ Agony again. _

_ And again. _

** _And again._ **

Before he could pull himself from the vision, Eddie blacked out.

~

The first thing Eddie became immediately aware of when he finally woke was a sharp pinch in the bend of his arm. And then,

_ Sharp. Just a pinch. _

_ Need another _ ** _syringe._ **

_ Need more. _

_ Not enough. _

_ Not _ ** _enough._ **

Eddie gasped awake fully and yanked away from the source of the vision. He kicked away from whoever it was and looked around frantically for any hint of where he might be. He saw the bed, he saw an IV ripped out of his arm, and there was a nurse with his arms out, moving right for him. He was in a hospital emergency room.

“Whoa! Whoa, we need somebody in here to sedate him!” the nurse shouted. Eddie felt himself begin to panic.

“No, no! No he doesn’t, he doesn’t need that, just stop touching him!”

Stan.

Eddie turned and saw that Stan had scooted through the doorway. Stan ignored another nurse who’d followed him and dodged the one already in the room. He got to Eddie’s bedside, and Eddie immediately clung to him like his life depended on it. “Hey there, Eddie. You’ll be fine walking back on your own, huh?”

Eddie swallowed around the air he was taking in too fast and buried his face in Stan’s shoulder. “Shut up, dude...”

“Is he on any medication? Is he on any illicit substances?” The nurse reached for him again, and Eddie felt the panic bubble in him.

Stan tugged him away. “He’s not on anything, he’s got a touch phobia, now back up a second.”

The nurse pursed his lips, ready to ignore Stan again, and Eddie flinched. “Stop fucking stealing oxycodone, fucker, somebody’s gonna find out, _ fuck,” _ he said, rushed and breathless.

And with that, the nurse froze. He backed away just as another nurse came in, an older woman with a stern face. She crossed her arms and stood by the bedside. “Sir, you really need to step out of the way.”

“I’ll step away when he’s calmed down. As it stands, you can rush him, he’ll panic, you’ll have to sedate him, which is going to cost everybody money, or you can wait thirty seconds.”

The nurse eyed Eddie carefully. Then she glanced at Stan. “How bad is it? The phobia?”

“Well it took me twenty years to get here.” Eddie felt Stan’s hand land on the back of his head. It was obviously more complicated than Stan was making it out to be, but he’d gotten good over the years at lying about it. It was second nature.

The newcomer, who’s name tag read ‘Kate’, moved a stool in front of her, sitting down. “Eddie? If you have ample warning, do you think you can handle if I touch you?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and pulled his head away from Stan. “Uh, depends. Do you have any illnesses, pre-existing conditions, or family history of diseases?”

“This is ridiculous,” mumbled the other nurse, who still looked startled and uneasy.

Kate turned to him. “Leo, get out.”

The other nurse left without another word.

Kate turned back to Eddie and a smile cracked on her face. “No. None of those things.”

“Do you drive a motorcycle?”

“Nope.”

“Any speeding tickets?”

“One when I was seventeen. Now I drive a minivan with front and side airbags and a gaggle of preteens in the back.” Kate leaned back. “I also had a salad today.”

Stand glanced down at Eddie, and Eddie bit his lip. “Any vacation plans to go scuba diving?”

Kate chuckled. “Honey, I’m lucky if I can get vacation time. No, no scuba trips. No spelunking. A nice, safe theme park or a resort maybe, but I’ve got three kids and a wife; I’m on a tight budget.”

Eddie stared a little longer. He weighed the options. He measured the variables. He took a breath and held out his bleeding arm. “All right, okay, get it over with.” He swallowed once, took a breath, and held it.

Kate lifted her arm and gently took Eddie’s hand in hers.

Nothing.

No horrible visions, no ground shifting beneath his feet, no death.

Kate was going to live a long, hopefully prosperous life.

Eddie sighed, shuddering and relaxing in Stan’s hold. “Okay. Okay, I’m good, okay.”

Kate arched a brow at Stan. “Now I need you outta my way, baby.”

Stan nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

~

Eddie, it turned out, was dehydrated. He was barely there an hour, pulled IV wound cleaned up and redone so he could receive his fluids. He’d sustained no injuries from the bus, or the fall, and his passing out was chalked up to the poor hydration and the anxiety of the crowds. He was discharged to Stan, and they left the hospital straight to Stan’s car. It was still midday, and technically Stan’s car should have still been at work, as should Stan, but he’d taken the rest of the day off for Eddie.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Eddie said, hands stuffed in his pockets again after he buckled in.

“How many?” Stan asked, starting the car but neglecting to turn the radio on.

Eddie winced and closed his eyes. “A lot.”

“How bad?”

Eddie bit his lip and looked out the window, remembering vividly the view of a knife plunging into his gut. “...Bad.” He took a deep, shaky breath and turned back to Stan. “Was the uh, the guy who saved me from the bus around when you got there?”

And suddenly Stan smiled. “Why, you want to thank him?”

“Uh, yeah, you know. Among other things.”

Stan snorted and turned the radio on finally, backing out and sending them on their way home. _ “Eddie. _ Naughty. You didn’t strike me as the type.”

“What?” Eddie blushed. “No. It’s not-... Man, it’s not that either.”

Stan’s smile dropped, and his gaze snapped to Eddie once they reached a red light. “Oh fuck, him too?”

Eddie nodded. “It was… _ bad. _ I don’t- You _ know _ I don’t try to get involved, but he-” He sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing his face to try and calm his nerves again. “He saved my life, and I should at least try to save his. _ Fuck, _ I hope he’s not one of those guys who wants to remain anonymous or something.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that,” Stan said, fishing into his pockets. “He _ was _there when I got to the hospital. Said he didn’t want to leave until he was sure somebody would be there to pick you up. And then, he gave me these.” He handed what looked like tickets to Eddie.

Eddie took the tickets and squinted at Stan before reading them. “Enjoy reserved seating at the Wired Rat, special open mic comedy event, reservation courtesy of-” Eddie nearly dropped the tickets. “Richie Tozier?”

Stan gave a steady nod. “Yep.”

“Richie Tozier saved my life.”

“You’ll forgive me, I almost asked for his autograph at the hospital before I asked how you were.”

Eddie sat back in the seat and looked at the tickets again. A famous fucking comedian tackled him out of harm’s way in broad daylight in downtown LA. That same famous comedian was destined to die in a horrible, awful way. _ “Shit.” _

“He said he’d like to check up on you.” Stan reached over and tapped the date on the ticket, and Eddie realized it was for tomorrow. “I hope your evening’s free.”

Eddie covered his face again. “Fuck me, I shouldn’t have left the apartment today.”

~


	2. Obstacles

“‘Eeey! What’s happening, people?”

A cheer erupted throughout the lounge as the voice of Richie Tozier spilled out from the small stage. The place seemed like it was far more packed than it was used to being, and their headliner for their open mic comedy night was likely the sole cause of this.

Richie Tozier was decidedly famous. He’d had several TV spots and a small collection of Netflix specials under his belt, two of which Eddie had actually seen. He’d never found him all that funny if he were honest, but if the previous day told him anything, everyone was capable of surprises. Richie had always come off as sexist and crude, and never in his life did Eddie assume he’d go out of his way to save anybody from anything.

And yet, here Eddie sat, with Stan, at a table reserved for guests of Richie, right by the small stage, because Richie wanted to check on Eddie’s well being. It was an altruism Eddie hadn’t been able to imagine before now. Richie Tozier was just a name in lights he wasn’t sure deserved to be there.

“How’s everybody doin’ tonight?”

The crowd roared again, astoundingly loud for being in such a small space. Eddie was wary of the crowd, but their table was offset just enough that he had plenty of safety room between him and anyone else. He tapped the sides of his soda glass nervously as he neglected to do anything about Stan stealing another one of his fries.

Somewhere in the midst of the cheer of glee, some woman shouted: “Congratulations!” This drew Richie’s attention. He shielded his eyes from the lights to find the source of the sentiment.

“For what?” he asked incredulously to the tune of the crowd chuckling.

“You’re a fucking hero man.”

“Not getting hit by a bus!”

The other positive heckles came from everywhere, and the crowd roared to life in applause as Richie smiled and held the mic to his side. He looked bashful for a moment, beaming at the stage, and it was sweet enough of a sight that Eddie almost forgot to sink into his chair.

Of course everyone knew. People had cameras in their pockets, and Richie was famous. He’d probably had at least a dozen cameras on him when he’d tackled Eddie to safety. It may not have been in the news, but the youtube hit count was probably in the hundreds of thousands by now. So much for life in peaceful anonymity.

Richie finally looked back out at the crowd and lifted the mic again. “I dunno where you guys are getting your information, but those reports are definitely leaving out that I put the guy in the hospital.” The crowd laughed. Eddie did too, despite himself. “Guess I should thank my PR guy for that.”

Eddie was cautious. It felt like any moment now, Richie was going to point him out to the crowd. Thus far, nobody seemed to recognize him, and Eddie wanted nothing more than to keep it that way. He didn’t want to be known. He didn’t want to be spoken to. He didn’t want to be _ touched-- _

“In all seriousness though, can we talk about some bus drivers these days?”

But Richie didn’t even glance at him. He didn’t even reference that Eddie was there. He segwayed away from the topic and right into a joke. Eddie swallowed the nervous lump in his throat.

“Like, everybody digs on pick-up trucks being the go-to vehicle of emasculated men,” Richie continued. “Introducing the new Dodge Overcompensation.” A laugh hummed in the crowd. “Built Ford fragile.” Another laugh. “But I think that everyone is sleeping on how powerful driving a bus can make someone feel. Some days, you can just get on and go about your day, but other days, the bus pulls up, and it’s ‘Destination: Mad Max’.” He paused as the crowd laughed again, and his smile betrayed that he was laughing with them. He put on a fake smile and a hilariously campy customer service voice. “‘Thanks for riding with Metro, your safety is important to us. Please buckle up and have a nice ride.’” He mimed a bus door shutting and pretended to grip a steering wheel. _ “‘Witness me!!’” _ he bellowed.

Eddie couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Richie had never been this funny in anything he’d seen him in. This Richie was somehow completely different than the one everybody saw on screen, and Eddie found it very endearing.

He hoped he would be able to do something to save him.

As the laughter died down, Eddie watched Richie’s smile get stiff. His back straightened almost unnoticeably, and his shoulders squared a bit like he was ready for battle. It gave him an air of arrogance that Eddie was used to seeing in most of his appearances. Richie lifted the microphone once more when the laughter died down. “So my girlfriend’s been getting on my ass again.”

And there were the jokes Eddie didn’t care for. But as he sat back and watched Richie continue to perform, it seemed very much like the comedian himself wasn’t that crazy about his own material either. It felt like it fit a demographic, and Richie was simply the man they put in charge of it.

His set wasn’t long. Ten minutes after he’d begun, he ended it after his last joke by happily and loudly introducing the first comic there for open mic night, and he hopped down the stairs off the stage as everyone cheered. Richie turned to Eddie and Stan and _ beamed. _ He took two long strides from the stairs and slid into the last chair at the table. “Hey, hey, look who made it outta the medbay!” He patted the table a few times and kept on smiling. “Richie Tozier, obviously.” He presented himself.

Eddie nodded. “Obviously,” he chuckled. “Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Richie turned to Stan and pointed. “And you were Stan, yeah?”

“That’s me. Thanks for the invite Mr. Tozier,” Stan reached across the table.

Richie took the offered hand to shake but mocked gagging. “Oh my god, okay, nobody gets to say my last name at this table ever again. It’s Richie, for the love of god.” He smiled when Stan laughed and turned his attention back to Eddie. “Nice to meet _ you _ while you’re awake, for the record. The conversation waiting for the ambulance was really one-sided, you should work on that.”

Stan snorted.

Eddie laughed again against his better judgment. “Ah, it couldn’t have been so bad, I got the impression you like to hear yourself talk,” he said.

Richie’s mouth dropped open in shock, and he let out a sharp bark of laughter before Eddie had any time to worry that he might have been too rude. “Oh fuck no, I was definitely missing out. Glad you could make it, Eddie.” He reached his hand out.

Eddie jerked back in his chair before he could stop himself, hands snapping off the table and into his lap. His chest seized in a panic, quickening his breath and making his heart pound in his ears. The memory of watching those men beat Richie into the ground was too fresh and too sharp. He couldn’t watch it happen again. He realized after a beat that Richie’s fingers had curled away from him, and he looked almost... _ hurt. _ Eddie struggled to compose himself and steady his heartbeat. “Uh, sorry… Sorry, I didn’t- There’s just-” His words were tumbling out all wrong, and his breathing wasn’t helping.

“It’s nothing personal, Richie,” Stan hurried, putting a hand on the table to act as a point of focus for Eddie and a barrier between him and Richie. “Eddie’s not the biggest fan of touching.”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and stuffed his hands in his pockets again. He hadn’t even remembered when they’d come out of their shell. Eddie took a shaky breath. “Panic attacks,” he said, quickly after a breath. “Hyperventilation, tunnel vision, passing out, the whole nine.”

Richie’s hurt fell away and gave way only to calm surprise. “Oh, well that explains a lot.” His smile returned, and he tucked his arms together on the surface of the table, crossed and safely away from Eddie. “Here I thought this ugly mug was just too much for you to handle, and you passed out from fear.”

Eddie laughed, and it released a valve of tension in his chest. His spine unwound, and he leaned back in his chair to relax instead of escape. “Oh piss off, you look fine.”

“It’s good enough for a girlfriend anyway,” Stan added, slowly drawing his hand away once it was clear Richie would keep his distance.

“Ha. Yeah.” Richie gave a short, nervous laugh and looked down at the table. “Yeah, sure is. Anyway. Look, I felt like a complete tool, knocking you out. Especially now, knowing I set you off like that. I wanted to make it up to you.”

Eddie gave him an incredulous look. “Wait, hold on. You saved _ my life, _ and you want to make it up to _ me?” _

Richie pouted. “Well it sounds stupid when you say it like that.” Richie kept his arms crossed. “Just lemme get your hospital bill or something.”

“No, I can’t let you do that, it wasn’t even that expensive man, it was saline.” Eddie’s hands made fists in his pockets. “You don’t owe me anything, you saved my life. I owe _ you.” _

“You do _ not _ owe me, I knocked you out.”

“I passed out from a panic attack.”

“That’s potentially worse.”

“God, just buy me lunch or something, it’s not a big deal!”

Richie’s eyes widened as he was silenced. Eddie held his breath, and his mouth drew into a thin line. He noticed Stan staring at him and glancing over at Richie and back again. Eddie continued to hold his breath.

If Richie agreed, it would potentially mean that Eddie could derail the death he had coming. Eddie had never attempted to avert the events of his visions before, Stan aside, so he had no idea how much effort was necessary to fix it. Perhaps it could be something small, like having lunch with the man and shifting his schedule around _ just so _ that it allowed Richie to avoid the fight altogether. This was assuming that the event was imminent, but Richie’s voice in his head, no matter how garbled by blood, had sounded nearly the same. Eddie was sure; Richie was meant to die soon.

Richie just had to say yes, and maybe Eddie could repay his kindness.

Richie blinked once. “Ever been to Betty’s?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. I’ve been here a week, and I don’t exactly go out.”

There was silence from Richie. And then he nodded. “Well, we need to fix that.” Richie reached down and dug out his cellphone. He tapped at the screen before setting the phone down on the table and carefully scooting it toward Eddie. “Throw your number in there, we’ll set something up.”

Eddie eyed the phone and took it, glancing at Stan, who was leaning on his hand now but looked no less alarmed and _ amused. _ He squinted at him with a warning and typed his number in. In place of a contact name, he typed ‘Asshole’ and scooted it back. His hands fled back to the safety of his pockets again.

Richie retrieved his phone from the table and immediately laughed upon seeing the name. He focused on the screen and began typing away again. He hit one last button, locked his phone, tucked it into his pocket, and then leaned his chin on his fists, eagerly watching Eddie.

Eddie’s phone dinged in his pocket, and he pulled it out to check it. There, from an unsaved number, was a new message.

**im gonna send you so many dick pics**

Eddie’s head snapped up. “You’d better fucking not!”

Richie snickered. Before he could respond, another man had come up behind him and tapped on his shoulder. “Mr. Tozier? Your manager wants a word.”

Richie groaned. “Oh, great. Mom’s home early. Welp, gotta bounce, Asshole. Lemme know when you’re free, and we’ll do lunch.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know. Got you saved and everything.” Eddie turned the phone to face Richie and revealed his contact was saved as ‘Dicks’.

Richie’s smile lit up his face so brightly, Eddie couldn’t help but smile back. Richie stood from the chair and kept that smile on Eddie a little longer. “See ya soon, Eds.”

“Not my name, fucker,” Eddie said.

Richie’s eyebrows rose, and he laughed, tugging his phone out of his pocket. “Oh-ho, it is now.” He tapped a few times and showed him the contact relabeled ‘Eds’. Then, with a wink, he followed the stagehand along the stage, disappearing around the back.

Eddie let out a slow, shaky breath and laid his head down on the table with a groan. “Fuck.”

“‘Among other things’?” Stan asked.

Eddie felt his cheeks go pink. “Shut up, man.”

~

Stan looked too smug. He wasn’t allowed to look this smug. Eddie hated every second of it. “Will you wipe that stupid grin off your face, please?”

“I have never actually seen you flirt, did you know that?” Stan asked, the smile still there every time Eddie saw him in the streetlights. “I’m just glad I finally know what it looks like.”

Eddie scoffed. “That wasn’t flirting.”

“You asked the guy to lunch, Eddie.”

“I just didn’t want him to pay for the hospital bill! He’s got a girlfriend anyway, Stan, I’m not interested.” Eddie crossed his arms.

Stan arched an eyebrow at him. “So letting the man buy you lunch is completely selfless on your part?”

Eddie sighed. “Yes. I’m just trying to derail his death, and he was really eager to do _ something _ for me, so I picked a low hanging fruit, that’s all.”

“You think it’ll be enough?” Stan asked as he turned a corner toward their street.

That was the ultimate question, wasn’t it? Eddie sank in his seat and looked out the window, watching the lights of the buildings go by. “I have no idea.”

“What if it’s not? How will you know?”

“I’ll have to-” He mimed placing his hand on something in the air. “I’ll just-.... Check. After the lunch, I’ll find out.”

Stan blinked and flashed a quick glance at Eddie. “...Check?”

“I’ll touch him again,” Eddie clarified. “And then either nothing happens, or I’m potentially on the ground again, and I’ll have to think of something else.”

There was nothing but silence for a few seconds. Stan watched the road and took the turns carefully. Then, softly, he said, “You see it every time you touch someone who’s going to die.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.”

Stan bit his lip. “I’ve never actually asked you how it worked.” They came to a red light, and Stan turned to him. “Every touch is a roulette? Even… Even with me?” Stan’s voice trailed off, sounding far away.

Eddie lifted his eyes to Stan and found a vulnerable boy sitting there in the driver’s seat. There was an awe and sadness swimming in his eyes. Eddie took a slow breath, but it stuttered on its way back out. “I never… know if something’s gonna change. I don’t know if you’ll decide to go on a cruise in Buenos Aires and fall overboard, or go hiking and fall off a mountain, or… or get lunch and get hit by a bus.” He reached over and took Stan’s hand in his, closing his eyes briefly. A tear escaped at the peace that followed. “You’re always safe, every time. But I’m always scared that one day, I’ll see something again.”

Stan’s mouth closed. The light turned green and he drove on, but he immediately turned into a parking spot on the side of the road. He threw the car in park and yanked Eddie into a tight hug, burying his face in Eddie’s hair. “You won’t,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The words should have made Eddie feel better. They should have wrapped Eddie in a calm that he would never have to worry about his friend meeting an untimely demise because he’d always be right there with him, well within reach.

Putting his life on hold.

Playing everything safe and taking no risks to appease Eddie’s paranoia.

Stan was trapping himself with Eddie.

Eddie clung to his best friend and tried to feel happy about it.

~

Betty’s was out of the way. For anyone but Eddie, this might have been off-putting. The street was shoddily paved, the only other establishments nearby were an off-brand gas station and a pawn shop. Eddie wasn’t exactly comfortable here, but compared to everywhere else in the city, this place was sanctuary. Not a soul was in sight.

Nobody around to accidentally touch him.

It was three days after the night at the Wired Rat, and Eddie’s nerves were still alight. Up until Richie had contacted him, he’d spent his days barely able to focus on work. He worked remotely, the easiest way for him to stay in the safety of his home and not rely on Stan for money on top of everything else. But all that allowed him to do was pace around the apartment so much that their downstairs neighbor took a broom to their ceiling.

The evening of day two, his phone hummed to life with a message from ‘Dicks’. He snatched the phone up and opened the message to find a photo of Richie’s worn out, dirty converse-clad foot. The knot was lopsided. Below that came the texts.

**couldnt get the zipper down on my pants but heres the next best thing**

**im a size twelve for the record**

**take from that what you will**

**;)**

Eddie’s laugh was relieved. Richie hadn’t succumbed to his fate in the short time they were apart, so Eddie could still had the chance to derail it.

And now he stood outside a small diner on the backroads of LA to face that chance. He pulled open the door, hearing it chime to announce him, and an older woman in uniform met him at the podium. “Hello! Just one today?” she asked.

“Uh, no, I’m actually waiting for someone.” Eddie’s hands fidgeted in his pockets.

The woman leaned on the podium and grinned at him. “Are you with Richie?”

Eddie blinked at her, fighting his face’s urge to turn red. She really could have worded that better. “Yeah, that’s- Is he here? Already?”

“He’s almost always here. Come on, he’s near the back.” She turned away and led him into the restaurant proper.

There were people in the diner, despite it not being packed, and the woman led him away from those tables. She walked him around empty booths and tables, as far from people as possible, before round the bend and showing him to a booth. Long legs were hooked over the side of the booth’s bench, those same tattered shoes from his text were poised on the floor. When Eddie neared enough to see him, he realized that Richie was asleep. There was an empty coffee mug on the table, and his arms were wrapped over his eyes.

The server smiled at Eddie. “One sec.” She then lifted one of the menus from the table and whacked Richie in the thigh with it.

Richie jerked awake, legs flinching and elbow smacking the table. “Agh! Jesus!”

The woman leaned her hand on the table and planted the other one on her hip. “You’re lucky I didn’t have any ice water. You can sleep in your own bedroom,” she said, the smile never leaving her face.

Richie whined at her. “Aww, come on, Annie, it’s not my fault these benches are so comfortable! They’re like pillows, seriously. You oughta try this.”

“No thanks. I like my job. Besides, you’re being awful rude to your company.”

And finally, Richie sat up. His eyes locked onto Eddie, and the smile bloomed again. “Eds! You found it!”

Eddie felt himself smiling at him already. “Yeah, ‘behind the condemned kmart’ was a pretty clear instruction. You could have added ‘left at the dumpster’, I’d have been here sooner.”

Annie whacked Richie in the back of the head with the menu once more before moving out of the way of the opposite bench. “Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked Eddie.

“Coffee and a water please?”

“Coming right up.” Annie left for the kitchen.

“Can I get a refill, Annie? Annie, baby? My darling, Annie??” Richie called after her with increasing desperation holding his empty mug out.

“Behave, and I’ll consider it!” Annie called back.

Eddie took his seat with another laugh. “God, I hope you plan to tip well.”

“Ah, Annie’s been dealing with my shit for three years. Trust me, she gets tipped.” Richie glanced back at Eddie and set his mug down, dropping his hands to his sides. “She keep you on the empty side?”

“What?”

Richie gestured to the restaurant. “This place is kinda cramped, so. Ya know. I asked her to make sure,” he gestured around again. Then he shook his head. “Never mind. How you holding up? Not suing me yet, are you?”

Eddie wanted to laugh and respond, but his mind was curling around what Richie had been trying and failing to say. He’d warned their server about his phobia to keep him from being touched. He’d made the place safer for Eddie before he even got there. Eddie almost couldn’t breathe, but he forced himself to calm down. He finally forced out the laugh and hoped it covered how fast his heart felt like it was beating. “Please, like I could afford a lawyer.”

“I mean, I know a guy.”

Eddie snickered at him. “Of course you do.”

He didn’t know when his hands had freed themselves from his pockets.

Richie had an ability to make it feel like you’d known him for decades rather than days. By the time their food had arrived, Eddie’s face hurt from how hard he’d been smiling. All his frown lines were laugh lines by now, and his hands had all but forgotten about their safe space away from the table.

“No wait, go back,” Eddie gesture with his soup spoon. “You just sat there and told me _ to my face _ that you have a personal stylist, and I’m still trying to figure out how you have the gall to say that while existing in _ that shirt.” _

Richie looked down at said shirt, a Hawaiian style shirt covered in brightly colour turtles, and gave him a mock pout. “There is nothing wrong with my shirt.”

“Would your stylist say that?”

“Hell no, Bev wants to set it on fire.”

Eddie gestured again with a nod. “There you go. See?”

“Hey, I don’t plan on taking fashion advice from somebody who’s allergic to anything that isn’t navy or beige.” Richie stuffed a fry into his mouth.

Eddie spooned a mushroom out of his bowl. “I’m not allergic to colors, but I’m definitely allergic to _ that. _ Look at me, I’m breaking out in hives.” He ate the spoonful through a laugh and glanced down at his bowl. “I’m surprised your girlfriend hasn’t already done the world a favor and shredded your entire wardrobe.”

They laughed again together. But Richie’s felt… off. Eddie lifted his head and saw that Richie had dropped his gaze to his plate, twirling another fry between his fingers. “Heh. Yeah…” He sniffed once, continuing to look down as if he was thinking too hard about something. “Yeah, I don’t-... have one of those.”

Eddie set his spoon in his bowl. “What, a-... a girlfriend?”

Richie nodded his head and didn’t look up. “Yep.”

“You bring her up in every act I’ve seen you do.”

“Yeah, that’s how it’s written.” He lifted his fork and stabbed at his steak. “My manager actually yanked my ear about sticking to the script that night at the Rat. Said we hired a writer for a reason, and I was throwing that money away.”

Eddie could only stare. Pieces of the Richie puzzle were falling into place now. Richie didn’t write his own material. He had somebody else feeding him tired, old jokes that still rang well with a tired, old, bitter crowd of people. But when Richie went in on his own, he was hysterical. He was _ amazing. _ It pissed Eddie off that nobody in charge could see that Richie didn’t need that help. “You know, I hated your act?”

Richie finally glanced up, and he suddenly looked small. “You did?”

Eddie nodded. “I saw a few on Netflix, but I just never bothered to watch anything else you’ve done after that. You were a dick. And I mean, you are a dick, but like man, you were just _ awful. _ Like how many demographics can you micro-agress in one special?”

Richie pursed his lips and gave a nod. “Yeah… I know.”

Eddie pushed his soup aside and leaned his arms on the table. “So why do you let them make you do that?”

Richie’s fries seemed to be very interesting to him. “Because comedy’s kind of all I have?” He broke a fry in half. “This world’s a lot easier when you have somebody calling the shots.”

“They’ve got you working at half mast, Richie,” Eddie said. “You don’t need a damn writer, I don’t care who says you do.”

A smile finally found its way back to Richie’s face. “Aw, Eds.”

“I’m dead serious. You walked up there and pulled a bit about buses out of your _ ass _ because somebody threw the topic at you. And that was _ fucking hilarious.” _ Eddie’s hands fisted on the table in front of him to keep from reaching out to touch Richie’s arm. “If that’s what you can do by yourself with five seconds of improv, I wanna know what the fuck you could do with an hour of your own material.” And with that, he grabbed his coffee and took a swig.

Maybe this could be the turning point. A lot of the lines fed to Richie were just insulting enough that Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if some people had come up to him after shows to give him a piece of their mind. Maybe that material was the catalyst behind the fight that would inevitably kill him?

If Eddie could get him to do his own stuff and not rely on some sexist, prejudice writer, maybe Richie would be okay.

Richie had been stunned into silence. When Eddie finally looked at him, his mouth was slightly agape, and something in his eyes made it almost look like he was about to cry. Eddie watched Richie’s Adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow, and he gave a wet laugh. “Wow. Ha.” He looked down to avoid Eddie’s gaze. “You can’t just say things like that to a guy, man, I’m getting fluttery over here.” He yanked his glasses off and palmed the heel of his hand against one eye. “Something in my damn eye.”

“Uh huh.” Eddie set his coffee cup down and went back to his soup. The meal settled into silence as they ate, and it was comfortable rather than awkward. Eddie kept glancing up and watching Richie fight a smile. Eddie liked the real one much more than the fake ones he wore onstage. Especially when it was one he was fighting and trying to hide. It made it all the more sweet.

All the more something to be saved.

And maybe he’d done it. Just maybe.

~

They walked out of the diner after Richie paid with Annie inviting Eddie to return whenever he wanted. He’d already made note of the place’s location; the food was delicious. It was also the type of place that Stan would love. Stan always enjoyed places that were lesser known or hard to find. He used to say that those places felt like secrets between him and the city. Eddie felt like now, he finally understood what Stan meant.

Richie’s own hands were stuffed in his pockets now. It was likely an effort to keep them away from Eddie, since Richie was very tactile with everyone else he interacted with. As much as Eddie wanted to appreciate it, it still made him feel a little terrible. This was why he didn’t like to try and make friends. Richie would hate this after a while.

Unless it was already over. Unless what he said had changed the way things were going to go.

“I come here a lot,” Richie interrupted Eddie’s train of thought. “They seat me in the back so nobody sees me, they don’t make a big deal about the whole celebrity thing… It’s nice.”

“I’m sure.” Eddie shuffled his feet. “I get nervous when I’m around people who don’t even know I’m there; I can’t imagine being in a crowded room when you’re _ you.” _ He took half a step toward him and gave him a smile. “But maybe that’s because you’re not you out there. You’re ‘Richie Tozier, famous comedian’. Then here, you’re just ‘Richie, the asshole who falls asleep in the booth and tips well’.”

Richie laughed, letting it trail off as he glanced toward the small parking lot. He rubbed his arm and cleared his throat. “Thank you,” Richie tried, reaching up and shaking out his wavy hair. “You know, for what you said. About my act. Nobody’s ever-... I mean, I didn’t think anybody would really give two shits about anything I’ve got to say.” Richie’s voice was too soft.

“Just because half of what comes out of your mouth is trash, it doesn’t mean you’re not genuinely funny as yourself.” Eddie’s hands were burning at his sides. He wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder, comfort him physically in some way, but he could feel his anxiety bubbling in the back of his skull. “The world is missing out, man.”

Richie laughed through his nose, shaking his head and looking at the ground. Then he looked up at Eddie. “Do you want a ride home?” He asked, thumbing toward the parking lot.

Eddie blinked at him. “What? No, it’s fine, I was just gonna catch the-”

“Hold up.” Richie’s hand shot up, palm out to Eddie to silence him, still far enough away that he wasn’t in any danger of touching him. “Tell me you were not about to say ‘catch the bus’, because listen, I haven’t known you long, but your track record with buses isn’t exactly stellar.”

Eddie went red and crossed his arms, fighting a grin. _ “One _ time, dude. It happened _ once.” _

Richie snickered at him and motioned to the lot again. “Offer still stands. Car with one man, versus a bus chock full of people at lunchtime.”

Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes, gesturing toward the lot as well. “Yeah, fair point.”

And Richie was smiling again-- that big, real one that reached his eyes. “To coche de Tozier, then.” He turned from Eddie and led the way.

Eddie couldn’t keep himself from watching the man walk away. He was lanky and boneless in his walk, he had an ease to his step that seemed both goofy and elegant. He was long angles and broad shoulders and hair that probably wouldn’t sit right even if a professional got a hold of it. His clothes were terrible, his shoes were dirty, he needed a goddamn shave.

But holy fuck was he attractive.

Eddie stomped that thought immediately. No matter what Stan thought, Eddie was not here in an effort to get with the famous comedian. He was here to save his life.

They approached a red sports car, and Eddie snorted. “Oh, that’s a real subtle, nondescript car you’ve got there.”

“This is LA, baby; red’s about as nondescript as you can get out here.” Richie patted the roof of his car and unlocked it. “Step on in. You can just uh, throw that shit in the back.”

As Eddie opened the door, he saw that Richie was referring to a duffel bag of folded clothes and a hat. Eddie lobbed them into the back with a snort. “Planning on doing some espionage?”

“Planning on grocery shopping later,” Richie said, sliding into the driver’s seat and gestured up to the sunvisor, which was dutifully holding a set of sunglasses Richie could trade for his usual pair. “I wanna be able to get my Fruity Pebbles in peace, dammit.”

Eddie barked a laugh and buckled in. As Richie started the car and moved his hand to the gearshift, Eddie stared at his wrist. He was running out of time, and he had to get this over with. The image of Richie’s death was still sharp, no matter how many days had gone by, and he knew it wasn’t going to fade until he was sure Richie’s fate had been changed. And so, before Richie could even put the car in reverse, Eddie held his breath and let his pinky drift to brush against Richie’s wrist.

The air was punched out of his lungs.

_ Coughing. Choking. _

_ Choking on blood. _

_ Another sharp burn in his gut, a deep slice. _

_ ...Sirens? _

_ Please help me. _

_ Somebody please. _

_ Can’t speak. _

_ Too much blood. _

_ Where are the sirens? _

** _Stab._ **

_ Where is _ ** _help?_ **

** _Stab._ **

_ Somebody please _ ** _help me._ **

Eddie gasped and snapped away from Richie, pressing himself against the opposite door as he struggled to breathe normally again.

“Oh shit!” Richie seemed to panic right along with him, scooting against the opposite door to put more distance between them. “Shit, sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where my damn hand- Fuck, are you okay? Can I get you anything? Should I run in and get you some water?”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head quickly, taking short breaths and gripping the door so hard, his nails were digging into the interior. “No- No, I’m- I’m good, I- _ Fuck sorry-” _

“Don’t you dare apologize to me, _ I’m _ sorry. I should’ve been careful-”

“No, it wasn’t you, it wasn’t-” Eddie inhaled a gulp of air. “I thought I could handle it. I thought I could handle-... I’m sorry.”

Richie stared from the driver’s seat. It seemed to sink in that Eddie had done it on purpose, and Eddie watched his face morph into something tender. He gave him a small half smirk and crossed his arms to keep them away. “Hey, it’s okay! It’s okay, that’s like, progress, right? Don’t apologize for trying, dude, that’s really badass.”

Eddie felt embarrassment settle in. “Yeah… Yeah, progress,” he mumbled, sinking in his seat.

He hadn’t made any progress at all.

Richie was still going to die the same horrible way.

Eddie hadn’t stopped it.

He was running out of time.

~

Richie pulled them up to Eddie’s building and parked. Eddie had fought to seem okay the whole way back, but it was a struggle. The vision had been refreshed, and now it was at the forefront of his mind again, humming in his bones like a cancer.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Richie asked, keeping a cautious gaze on him.

Eddie managed a nod. “I’m fine,” he swore, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “I know I look a wreck, but this is just the base state of my life, honestly. It’s been-... It’s been worse.”

A lie.

This was going to be harder than he thought, but he wasn’t willing to give up. Especially now that he knew a little bit more about Richie. He saw the kind of person he really was, and he deserved to be able to show that to the world. “So when can I pay you back?” he asked, hoping to cut off anymore questions Richie might have had about his well-being.

Richie scoffed. “Pay- You’re not paying me back for this, this was _ my _ payback for putting you in the hospital.”

“Not lunch, you idiot.” Eddie gave him a smile. “Sure, this was your payback for the hospital, but I haven’t gotten to pay _ you _ back for saving my _ goddamn life. _ Which is a thing that still happened that you keep forgetting somehow.”

“I haven’t forgotten, man, it’s just not- You don’t have to do anything for me.”

“And yet, I’m gonna.” Eddie turned to him. “You got lunch. Let me get dinner sometime. Then we’re even.”

And Richie went quiet again. Richie not talking was something that made Eddie nervous. He hoped he wasn’t pushing too hard. What if Richie thought he was some weird fanatic now? He should have been more subtle about it. He shouldn’t have said it so harshly--

“All right.” Richie finally gave in. And he did so with that bloomed smile Eddie had grown so attached to in such a short time. “Dinner it is. You’ve got my number.”

Eddie felt his own smile spread across his face, and he freed himself from the seatbelt. “I’ll text you.” He opened the door and stood, but before he shut it, he gripped the roof and leaned to look back in. “Be-... Be safe, okay?”

Richie nodded and beamed at him like sunshine. “You too, mister ‘almost-a-hood-ornament’.”

Eddie gave him one more laugh. “Fuck you, dude.”

The curse did nothing to take the soft happiness from Richie’s face. “Bye Eds.”

Eddie felt his heart rate pick up. “Bye Richie.” He shut the door.

He watched Richie drive away, hands stuffed back into his jacket pockets and feeling the giddy heartbeat turn sour. His chest grew tighter the further and further Richie got from him, and he eventually looked down to the pavement.

He wanted to save him. He _ needed _ to save him. Nobody deserved to go the way Richie was fated to. As he watched the red car disappear around the corner, Eddie swore that he would do everything he could to make sure Richie lived.

He had to save him.

He _ would _ save him.

He just had to figure out how.

~


	3. When it Rains

“He’s still going to die?” Stan asked after Eddie walked in and immediately got as comfortable as possible to tell Stan how it went.

Eddie was seated on their couch, knees drawn up to his chest. He wasn’t in a hurry to have this discussion, but after his first experience of keeping things from Stan, he’d vowed never to do it again. “Of course he is, because it’s not like my life is difficult enough,” he said, hands firmly buried in his own hair.

“So what do you do now? It’s going to be hard to get him alone again to figure something out, isn’t it?” Stan leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair.

Eddie curled a little tighter in on himself and sighed. “I mean… no, we-... we have dinner plans, so getting to him is the easy part.” When Stan didn’t respond immediately, Eddie peeked at him over his arm, and Stan was smirking at him, which was a look that shouldn’t have fit so well on that sweet face. Eddie flinched. “What?”

_ “Dinner, _ Eddie.”

“It’s  _ not _ like that, and you know it.”

Stan snickered. “Yeah, yeah, he’s got a girlfriend, I  _ know.” _

And it was Eddie’s turn to pause. “He, uh... actually doesn’t.”

Stan’s mouth dropped open. He blinked his wide eyes and leaned closer in his chair. “Eddie.”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut to avoid Stan’s suggestive grin. “No.”

“Eddie,” Stan tried again. Eddie grumbled instead of a response, and he heard the soft creak of Stan’s chair. Then the couch sank down next to him.  _ “Eddie.” _ Arms wound around Eddie’s tightly curled form, and he shrieked as Stan knocked them both over into the cushions of the couch.

“Oh my god, Stan, it’s not gonna happen, back  _ off,” _ Eddie whined, although it was tucked safely under laughter. His words held no heat. Stan was doing what he did best-- unravelling the tension in Eddie’s incredibly stressful situation. And despite the grim nature of their discussion and Eddie’s day, it was working. “Not like he’ll be around much longer if I can’t figure out how to save the guy, for fuck’s sake.”

Stan stayed right where he was, long limbs draped over Eddie’s compact figure with is head planted on his shoulder. “Hey, I’m just trying to help you get out there. You barely leave the apartment; this is a rare and fleeting opportunity for you.”

Eddie snickered. “What, you trying to get rid of me finally?” He laughed.

Stan didn’t. His head lifted from Eddie’s shoulder after a beat, and he inhaled softly. “You know I wouldn’t…”

Eddie unfurled a bit to turn and look Stan in the eye. He looked worried, as if he thought Eddie actually believed what he’d said. Eddie lifted a hand to the side of his head to put a stop to it immediately. “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t, it was a joke. Easy, Stan, I know you wouldn’t do that to me.”

Stan let out a breath and dropped his head to Eddie’s shoulder again. “Sorry… I’d just kill for you to be happy for once. Like, really happy. I know you act it, but it doesn’t happen often. I can tell.”

Eddie smiled and laid his head back, running his hand through Stan’s hair. “Do me a favour and don’t introduce me to whoever you plan to sacrifice to this cause, okay?”

Stan snorted. “Deal.”

And then they laid there in a comfortable silence. Over the years of being so close, Eddie and Stan had very few boundaries left. Difficult days found them tangled with each other on various pieces of furniture just like this, and  _ really _ difficult ones found them in the same bed. They traded spoons and shared pillows and blankets. They shared nightmares when they happened, and comfort to be rid of them. They had what they had with each other, and it was good.

But Eddie knew that Stan hoped for more, with someone out there he wasn’t letting himself go out and meet.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Stan against his collar bone. “About Richie, I mean.”

Eddie was thankful for the distraction from his own thoughts. “I’m not sure. The only thing I can do is hope I keep getting chances to keep him out of the situation he gets into.” He idly pushed Stan’s hair out of his face.

Stan gave a thoughtful hum. “What happens?” There was a pause, and Stan must have noticed how much Eddie’s body stiffened at the question. “Unless you don’t want to talk about it-”

“No, no, I-... I should.” Eddie lifted his hand and rubbed his temples. “He gets attacked in some alley. Three assholes are just beating on him for some reason, and then one of them pulls a knife.”

Stan lifted his head and stared. “Are you  _ serious?” _ Eddie nodded. “That’s awful.”

Eddie managed another nod. “I don’t even know where it happens,” He said. “Richie’s vision is blurry from the beginning, and the whole place just looks like every single alley way in fucking LA. Not that he looks at anything helpful. And I get it in flashes, I’m not even seeing the whole thing-”

“‘Richie’s vision’?” Stan asked.

Eddie paused. He was realizing now that he’d left out quite a bit of detail about how his ‘gift’ worked. Fourteen solid years of Stan knowing, and it was all coming out now. “Y-... Yeah. I watch it all happen from the victim’s eyes.”

Stan’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Do-... Do you feel-...?” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Eddie nodded weakly. “Everything.”

Stan was a sensitive person. Eddie knew that going into their friendship very early on. He’d watched Stan cry over dead birds as a boy, and he still got a bit wibbly over news reports that famous zoo animals had passed. He was the first to offer comfort to people who were upset, and he gave hugs in such a way that you knew he needed the hug as much as you did. If you cried, the odds were high he would cry with you.

And so, Stan’s wide eyes teared up as the realization that Eddie actually felt every death he saw plowed into his chest like a speeding train. He slowly sat back and tugged Eddie with him until they were both upright, and Eddie was yanked into the safety of Stan’s ribcage. “I’m so sorry,” he managed, voice hushed and cracking. “You’ve died a million times, and I-... I’m so sorry, Eddie…”

Eddie tucked his head into Stan’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, I don’t get why you’re apologizing.”

“One of those was  _ me, _ of course I’m apologizing!” Stan sat back and took Eddie’s face in his hands. “If I’d have known-”

“If I’d have told you before I did, you wouldn’t have believed me.” Eddie reached up and patted Stan’s chest. “Don’t ever fucking apologize for being in pain.”

Stan opened his mouth and closed it. He pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes blinking away more tears as he looked down. He fumbled for words that probably weren’t there, and Eddie cut him off by just pulling him back into the hug. “Yours wasn’t that bad. Suffocating and being stabbed to death are significantly worse,” he offered into Stan’s hair. Then he smirked. “Even if I did have to see you naked.”

Stan sobbed a laugh and whacked Eddie in the side.

~

A few days later, Richie prefaced their next meeting with a texted photo of him holding a rather hefty cucumber at the grocery store.

**its a little smaller than the real deal but just to give you an idea**

Eddie had been mid lunch and nearly choked on his sandwich with laughter. He went to text Richie back, but before he could even get a few words in, Richie  _ called. _

Eddie stared at the screen, feeling startlingly nervous to answer, eyeing the ‘Dicks’ label as the phone continued to sing. After a quick breath and a moment to clear his head, he tapped to answer and brought the phone to his ear. “I highly doubt you’d do that cucumber justice.”

Richie’s laughter was the first thing he heard, and he ignore how light it made his chest feel.  _ “Wow! Fuck you, dude, you’re lucky my dick wasn’t listening; you’re gonna give it a complex.” _

Eddie chuckled. “How are you and your trash mouth?”

_ “We’re doing great! I’m gonna be hanging out with Bev today. And by hanging out, I mean she’s making me pretty for a show I’ve got in a couple months at the Orpheum. Ever been?” _

Eddie opened his mouth to answer, but Richie cut him off.

_ “Wait, big crowded public place, new to LA, of course you haven’t, sorry.” _

“You catch on quick,” Eddie teased, grinning.

_ “Sure do. Anyway, I’ve got a fitting at three.” _ He heard Richie shuffling some things around wherever he was.  _ “Gonna be a few hours, and I could use the company. If you’d be willing to put up with me being manhandled into a suit for a bit, we can do dinner after. Sound good?” _

Dinner. The next chance Eddie had to try and stop Richie from dying. “Yeah, absolutely. I could do that.” He glanced over at his laptop where he’d been working. “I’ve got a few projects to finish up, but I should be able to get them done in an hour or so.”

_ “Sweet. Pick you up at two?” _

“That’s fine.”

_ “See ya soon, Eds!” _ And with that, Richie hung up before Eddie could say goodbye.

Eddie sighed and set the phone down. He looked at his half finished sandwich and then at the time. He glanced over at his laptop. He’d have time to do the work later. He absolutely could  _ not _ finish the projects in an hour, but his remote job made his hours flexible. It gave him plenty of wiggle room to work around his life, which was startlingly hectic for someone who could probably qualify as a shut-in.

He lifted his phone again and called Stan.

_ “Eddie? Is something the matter?” _

Eddie forced a smile. “Turn off the alarms, Stan, everything’s fine. I’m uh.” Eddie glanced around the room. “I’m not gonna be home when you get off work. Richie called about dinner tonight, so if I’m not home by morning, you know who to send the dogs after.”

He heard Stan’s nerves dissolve with a laugh.  _ “If you’re not home by morning, I’m going to assume you solved the problem, if you know what I mean. If you’re not home tomorrow afternoon, I’ll worry.” _

Eddie went red and ducked his head into his hand. “God, you’re the worst.”

_ “Be careful then. I’ve got an errand to run at the library again tonight anyway, so now I don’t have to tell you that  _ I’m _ going to be late.” _ Stan made a sniffling noise.  _ “You’re growing up so fast. Dinner date after three days, I’m so proud of you.” _

“Oh my god, the  _ worst, _ Stan!” Eddie shouted, laughing despite his embarrassment. “I’m hanging up, you’re awful.”

Stan chuckled again.  _ “Good luck, Eddie. Call me if you need anything.” _

“I will.”

_ “If you’re not unconscious under a hot comedian.” _

Eddie felt like his face was on fire. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

_ “Never.” _

~

Richie arrived timely, which was another unexpected Richie Tozier feature. He joked and teased the whole way, he checked on Stan’s well-being, and he even made some suggestions for dinner, since Eddie had no idea of what was around LA. Eddie felt like he was talking to someone he’d known for years, not days. The glee he felt at having a new friend made the hurt that formed when it collided with the idea of Richie being dead in the near future that much more terrible.

Richie parked along the street near a clothing boutique and leaned back in his seat. “Here we go. Don’t worry about Bev, I’ve already told her about your thing. She’s promised to keep her grabby hands to herself. And uh, what else.” Richie unbuckled and glanced around his car. “There was something else- Ah!” He snapped his fingers and pulled the lever on the side of his seat, leaning it back and snatching something from the back seat. “Heads up!” He lobbed something over the back of Eddie’s seat at his head.

“Hey!” Eddie flinched and fumbled whatever it was before he got a good hold of it. He looked down and the air lodged in his lungs.

It was a pair of leather gloves.

Richie leaned back against his door with his hands tucked across his chest, giving him an eager little smile. “Do you like them? I know you said the other day you were trying to- I mean you wanted to make some progress with the whole touching thing, but I read somewhere you shouldn’t push yourself. So, maybe gloves will make it easier.” He kept grinning.

Eddie stared at him. Awe had filled his chest as he took in the man that was three meetings short of being a stranger. Richie was  _ nothing _ like his television persona.

“Er,” Richie started, his smile growing nervous. “I mean. Unless you already tried that. You probably already tried that. You don’t have to keep them-”

“No, I-!” Eddie gripped the gloves tighter, as if Richie would take them away. “I haven’t actually-” He laughed and pulled one glove on. “Would you believe I just never bothered?” He pulled the other one on and looked down at his hands, covered and potentially safe from the visions. “They fit great.”

Richie’s smile slowly returned. “Yeah. It was the only pair they had in child’s size.”

Eddie snapped a heatless glare at Richie, lifting an empty water bottle from the floor and chucking it at him. Richie laughed and held his hands up to block it. “Fuck you, asshole!” Eddie said through a smile he couldn’t stop as Richie kept snickering.

When Richie’s amusement died down, he kept holding up one hand, palm out to Eddie. “Did you wanna try it out?”

Eddie’s smile faded and nerves took over again. “Now?”

Richie shrugged. “I mean the car’s probably the best place for you to have a breakdown if it’s gonna happen.” His fingers curled, and he retreated a few inches. “You don’t have to, I know it’s early in the day, it’d probably suck if you had to deal with a panic attack-”

“Will you shut up a minute, my god.” Eddie brought his smile back, mostly in response to Richie’s goddamn sweet consideration. “I’ll try them. We’ll see.”

Richie’s face took on that unreadable awe again, and his hand came forward, fingers stretching up bare his palm again. Eddie took a deep breath, trying not to wonder too much on that expression, and lifted his own, gloved hand.

He had never worn gloves for the purpose of being able to touch people. Gloves implied that he had any intention of touching, and before Richie, Eddie never had. He stayed in, he kept his hands buried in pockets when he went out and wore heavy jackets to prevent direct touches. Gloves hadn’t even been in the plans. Now here he was hoping to God that they would work.

Eddie’s gloved fingers grazed Richie’s, and he went rigid.

And then nothing. No visions, no panic, no pain. The leather was enough.

He looked away and whispered a sharp laugh, leaning his hand against Richie’s even more. He felt Richie’s fingers gently weave between his own, but he didn’t grip him hard. Eddie could pull away whenever he wanted. “Progress?” Richie asked, still holding Eddie’s safe hand.

Eddie beamed at him. “Progress.”

They walked into the boutique, and it was a fancy looking place. Beautiful dresses were on Eddie’s left, along with casual blouses, smart slacks, dress suits, and even shoes. Suits and designer shirts for men were on the other. There weren’t many patrons inside, so the odds of running into anyone were low. Once they were in the center of the store, Richie stopped walking and looked around. Then he leaned his head back.

_ “Special delivery!” _

The other patrons of the store jumped and turned to stare, as they should after such a display. Eddie didn’t have much time to feel embarrassed before a curtain near the back of the establishment was cast open. “Richie!” called a woman on the other side. When she stepped out, Eddie took her in. She was long limbs and freckled, pale skin and vibrant red hair. She had a power to her step as she marched straight for Richie.

“Oh,  _ Beverly, _ my  _ darling!” _ Richie held his arms out to receive her. She bounced at the last second and threw her arms around Richie’s neck. Richie caught her, not letting her feet touch the floor, and spun her once before finally setting her down. He pulled out of her shoulder and looked down at her. “Where’s my sugar?”

Bev smiled at him. “You don’t get any, you’re late.”

Richie gaped.  _ “What? _ I’m like five minutes late!”

“And I have other appointments, bitch, no sugar for you!”

“Well that’s not gonna fly.” Richie dipped down, and suddenly Bev was hefted onto his shoulder to the tune of her shrieking with joy.

_ “Richie!” _

“Bev!” Richie replied and he carried her back to where she’d come from. “Come on, Eddie, I’m not gonna watch me get pretty by myself.”

Eddie was in a whirlwind. Watching Richie interact with other people was a total difference from how he interacted with Eddie. When Richie was allowed to touch, he went all out. Eddie wondered who this Bev was to Richie if she was not, as Richie had said earlier in the week, his girlfriend. Their relationship felt like it, but he didn’t want to be one to judge on sight.

Especially not with Richie.

He toddled along after them, and by the time he was closing the curtain behind him, Bev had not only gotten off Richie’s shoulder, but she’d managed to get him in a headlock. “Say it, punk!” Bev laughed.

Richie was laughing right along with her as he struggled. “Uncle!  _ Oh god, uncle!” _

Bev messed Richie’s hair up and finally freed him, and she spread her arms wide as Richie caught his breath. “You’ll never defeat me.”

“I bow to the master.” Richie gave a low bow before snapping back up and turning to Eddie. “Bev, this is Eddie!”

Bev’s bright smile turned to him immediately. “Richie’s told me all about you,” she said, lacing her hands together and giving him a nod.

“All he’s told me about you is that you wanna set his shirts on fire, so we’re already friends,” Eddie said, giving her a nod right back.

Bev grinned at him and turned a smirk to Richie. “Oh I like him.”

“You  _ would.” _ Richie squinted at her.

Eddie crossed his arms. “So do I get to see you wear something presentable or what?”

Richie pouted. “You know what, I wanna go home, you’re both bullying me.” He marched away toward a changing room.

“Oh, go get your damn pants off, crybaby,” Bev called after him. Richie pretending to cry as he disappeared past the curtain of the dressing room, and Eddie laughed after him.

“He is something else,” Eddie said before he could stop himself.

Bev snorted. “He’s been that way forever. I’ve known him since we were seven.”

“Oh  _ wow. _ How is he alive?”

Bev nearly cackled. “Oh god, we hated each other until we were ten. Now we’re here at thirty, I know his secrets, and he knows mine.”

Eddie found a chair nearby and took a seat. “So you know he doesn’t need somebody to write material for him too, huh?”

Bev turned to him and gave him a soft look. She chuckled through her nose and looked back to the changing room. “Richie’s got a lot in him he doesn’t show to many people. I’m happy he’s told you some things though.” She smiled at him again. “From what I hear, you’re a good person. He needs more of those in his life.”

Eddie’s smile was pinched and nervous suddenly. “I’m going to do my best.”

~

Bev had been a delight. She picked on Richie just as much as Eddie did, and Richie bit right back. They had fun with the entire fitting until Bev was reminded that she did actually have other clients. Richie had several options he was measured for ready to go for a show he had in couple of months, and Eddie now had Bev’s number so she could text him to final decision outfit when it was complete. In such a short time, Eddie had gone from one friend to three.

Richie drove Eddie to another lesser known restaurant for dinner. They ate and joked happily, and Eddie ticked off another restaurant to bring Stan to later.

While Eddie was wearing gloves, Richie kept initiating little touches here and there, like holding his fist out for bumping, asking for a high five, and at one point, Eddie is happy to brag that he won a thumb war. No matter what he started, Richie always patiently waited for Eddie to finish it. He waited for Eddie to reach for him.

In the car, as he dropped Eddie off, he put his hand out for one more five for the road. Eddie barely hesitated when he rested his hand upon Richie’s and gave it a squeeze instead. Richie smiled after him, wished him a good night, and drove away.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten to check if Richie was still meant to die until he was upstairs in the apartment. “Oh  _ fuck me.” _

“Date go bad?” came Stan’s reply as he rounded out of his bedroom. He was still in his work outfit and must have just gotten home as well.

Eddie groaned. “No, I just- I forgot to-” He sighed and kicked his shoes off at the door as he usually did. “I didn’t check him. I didn’t actually touch him.” When he turned his disappointed look to Stan, who’d been slipping off his tie, Stan was  _ grinning _ of all things. Eddie blinked at him in annoyance. “What?”

“You didn’t deny it was a date.”

And Eddie could have sworn he was melting. His face burned, and he covered it with his gloved hands. “That is  _ not fair.” _ He paced to the couch and flopped onto it. “I’m pretty sure he’s straight, Stan, give it up.” He watched Stan roll his eyes and walk back to his bedroom.

Eddie glanced at their coffee table and saw a stack of books sitting there-- likely Stan’s haul from his aforementioned library trip. He lifted the top book idly and narrowed his eyes at it. “Denbrough? I thought you hated Denbrough?”

Stan dropped something audibly and hurried out of his room with only one sock on a look of… something on his face. Muted alarm maybe? “Uh. I do. That’s a, er. That’s a new one. It’s highly recommended, and apparently he’s gotten better at endings.”

“These are-... These are all horror books, Stan, you hate those.” Eddie lifted another book away to see the cover.

“I’m broadening my horizons, Eddie.” Stan took another step, sounding weirdly nervous.

Eddie snorted. “So does that mean when I want to rent a horror, you’ll be a little more flexible about it?” He lifted the last book on the pile, some title by Stephen King, and a notecard slid out from the cover onto the floor. He leaned down and picked it up to the tune of Stan ceasing to breathe.

**Mike Hanlon**

**310-531-0525**

**Let me know if any of these have changed your mind.**

**☺**

Eddie’s head shot up to look at Stan, and he was hiding behind his hands. “Holy shit, Stanley,” he said, unable to stop himself from grinning. “Where do you get off teasing me for my friendly outings when you’ve been at that library every other day trying to  _ get you some?” _

“That is  _ not _ what I’ve been doing!” Stan snatched the card from Eddie and tucked it back into the book, collecting the stack and fleeing for his room.

Eddie sat back into the couch. “Come on, I’m not the only one in this apartment who needs to get out more!”

“Nothing is even coming from it,” Stan said, returning with his second sock finally removed. “Nothing is happening, okay, I’m just-...”

“Broadening your horizons?”

Stan was unbearably red, but it was all boiling under a bashful smile. He laughed through his nose and rounded the coffee table, sitting next to Eddie and planting his head on his shoulder. “It wasn’t planned. We’re just friends.”

“For now?”

Stan closed his eyes and nodded. “For now.”

Eddie smirked and jabbed Stan in the side. “Now who’s growing up?”

Stan flinched away. “It is not my fault he looks like he belongs in an Old Spice commercial, leave me alone.”

“Yeah, that would be your type.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“And yet you love me.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments as Stan smiled at the surface of the coffee table and Eddie stared at the ceiling. Stan deserved to be able to find somebody. Eddie was ecstatic that it was happening, because it meant that Stan wasn’t completely sequestering himself for Eddie’s benefit.

Eddie turned his head to glance down at Stan. “Did you-” He paused as he thought about his words. “Did you want me to-...?” He lifted a still-gloved hand and mimed reaching out and touching something.

He felt Stan’s limp frame grow rigid. “Uh,” His eyes were wide and troubled as he seemed to mull it over. “I-... No. No, I don’t think so.” He settled into Eddie’s shoulder depper. “I think I just… want to enjoy however much of this I can, whatever it becomes. Kind of hard to do that if I’ve got a deadline looming, you know?”

“He might not have a deadline. I may not see anything,” Eddie offered.

“That’s okay. I don’t want to risk that you will. You’ve already died more times than a human should ever have to.” Stan’s arm shuffled around his waist.

Eddie smiled. He leaned his head on Stan’s and breathed slowly. “Okay.”

After a minute, Stan spoke again. “The gloves are new.”

“Huh?” Eddie lifted his hands to look at them. “Oh. Yeah, Richie, uh. Richie got them for me so I could... get used to touching people.”

Stan snorted. “Eddie.”

Eddie went pink again. “What?”

_ “Eddie,” _ Stan lifted his head and grinned right in his face, wearing that look that said he knew something that Eddie clearly didn’t.

_ “What?” _

“He  _ wants _ you to touch him, Eddie.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie turned in an attempt to leave the couch, but Stan threw his other arm around his waist as well, trapping him there.

“He wants you to  _ touch him, Eddie~.” _

Eddie’s face was burning as he laughed, trying his best to crawl out of Stan’s grip.  _ “Oh my god, _ get off me, Uris, you’re the worst!”

~

Bev texted Eddie more frequently that was discussed. Anytime Richie was in the boutique, she’d send him pictures of Richie stuck holding still lest he turn the wrong way and end up with pins in his side. One photo was Richie having curled up SLEEP on the bench in the dressing room waiting for Beverly to throw another jacket at him, and there was another of Richie having pulled a fabric swatch out with glee that was just the absolutely worse geometric, bright pattern Eddie had ever seen. She had captioned it ‘ **sinning** ’, and Eddie wrote back to tell Richie he’s not allowed to do a show looking like upholstery of a public bus in the nineties.

Another round of photos included one selfie of Bev looking completely put out with Richie a blurry, dancing figure in the background wearing a few yards of another terribly patterned fabric as a cape. It was captioned ‘ **I lost rock paper scissors and now I have to make him a button down from hell** ’. Eddie laughed, trying to pretend he didn’t wish that image of Richie was clearer so he could see that smile.

He and Richie hung out rather frequently after their dinner. Richie had contacted him only two days after to see if Eddie had any interest in minigolf. Another three days, and they were at the cinema watching the newest action movie.

Pretty soon, their correspondence had gone from twice a week to every other day. By now, Eddie had a collection of photos on his phone of Richie suggestively holding various, phallic shaped objects-- a banana, a lampost, a new shoe he’d purchased, a handful of uncooked spaghetti (which was promptly followed by another photo of a pot full to the brim with said spaghetti cooked and a message about how he probably should have thought through throwing the whole massive handful into the hot water), and most recently, a sword mounted to a wall. Eddie’s name in Richie’s phone had evolved from ‘Eds’ to ‘Eddie Spaghetti’ to ‘Eduardo’ to just straight ‘SpaghEddie’ at one point, and Richie’s had been several dozen insults before it landed firmly on ‘Trashmouth’. Eddie had saved every single photo to his phone and reread there text chats over and over to remind himself what he was trying to save.

Because no amount of their interactions had seemed to do anything about Richie’s fate. He was getting better at hiding his visceral, soul rending reaction as the vision carved out his guts every time, but the vision never changed. So Eddie tried to use it. He would initiate more touches on purpose to try and see from the dying Richie’s bleary, punch-drunk eyes where he could be when everything happened. It was clear that derailment would not be enough; Eddie would have to be there to stop it. But Richie never looked at anything that was helpful. The alley looked like every alley in LA, the lights were blurry and too far away to light anything well enough for identification, and none of the neon signs he saw had any clarity. They were just rainbow blobs against the tears he knew were in Richie’s eyes as he silently pleaded for his life with lungs so full of holes that everything tasted like blood.

Thankfully, Stan’s life was going in a much more promising direction. He’d spent more time at the library than anyone should, and Mike was becoming a much more frequent cast member of their lives. Stan had him over for breakfast once, and Eddie stayed true to his word and stayed far away from the man, not wanting to accidentally have the worst news Stan could possibly hear. Mike was a history buff, loved horror novels, and had apparently grown up with the novelist, Bill Denbrough, and kept in touch with some consistency. Being that Stan had managed to enjoy at least one of the books he’d read, Mike had even offered to introduce them next time Bill was in town. After a couple of weeks, Stan and Mike had arrived to lunch together, hand in hand, and Eddie knew that everything was going to be okay for his best friend.

As long as Eddie stayed out of it.

Eddie would have to get used to dealing with most of his business alone.

He’d have to get used to the idea that, one day, he wouldn’t have Stan anymore.

He wouldn’t have anyone.

Nearly two months after Eddie was almost hit by a bus, he was in the back seat of Stan’s car as they drove to the Wired Rat for another impromptu Richie appearance. Mike was in the passenger seat, a spot that Eddie had happily vacated for the new couple’s convenience. Bev would be meeting them outside and taking them to the table Richie got reserved for the four of them. They’d managed, in a short time, to create a small group of friends who knew more about each other than anyone else in the world. Eddie hadn’t had this before. He had Stan, Stan had him, but neither of them had anybody else until now.

About five minutes from the location, Eddie’s text went off in the background of Stan and Mike’s conversation. He lifted the phone and found a text from Beverly waiting.

**We have a problem**

Eddie sat up a little straighter. He panicked himself into silence as he pondered what on earth the text could mean. Obviously the first option was that something had happened to Richie, but even though it had only been a little over a month, he knew Bev would straight up call if that were the case. So it had to mean something else.

“Holy shit, who opened the floodgates?” Before Eddie could ponder too much, Mike’s voice pulled his attention to the window.

Traffic and parking outside the Rat was completely packed. There was a line out the door, and even though the establishment hadn’t had bouncers at the door before, it seems that today, they did. The place was going to be full of people. Eddie was about to walk into a minefield. “Oh fuck,” he managed weakly to himself. His phone rang, and Bev’s name lit up his screen. He answered quickly. “Hello?”

_ “Hey Eddie. When you guys get here, I’m going to meet you by the valet, okay? I’ve managed to get you a special pass for the parking so it won’t cost anything, and then I’m going to lead you in through the back.” _

“Drive to the valet, Bev’s got us,” he said to Stan. He leaned the phone back on his ear. “What the hell happened to the ‘small show’?”

There was a frustrated sigh.  _ “Richie’s fucking manager happened. He got wind that Richie was planning a quick open mic appearance and made some announcement about it, so now everybody’s showing up to watch.” _ She paused.  _ “Are you going to be okay?” _

Eddie sighed. “I’m gonna have to be.” He glanced out the window as they approached and spotted the redhead on her phone “I think I see you.” He watched the person look up, and sure enough, Bev hung up and pocketed the phone. She walked to the valet and said something to him, and he waved them up.

Once they were all out of the car and Stan’s vehicle was on its way to god-knows-where, Bev had led them away from the front door to a section of sidewalk that hadn’t been too crowded. Stan kept close to Eddie and made sure the wall was on Eddie’s other side.

“I’m so sorry about this, Eddie,” Bev started. “If it’s any consolation, Richie is really pissed about this. He’s dedicated the last half hour to yelling at his manager.”

Eddie fought a smile. “At least he’s getting publicity. That’s important, right?”

“Yes, but he specifically wanted it to be an unannounced appearance so it wouldn’t be bad for  _ you.” _ Bev smiled at him.

Eddie felt his body grow cold. Years and years of Stan going out of his way to avoid things that would be fun for the vast majority of the population, simply because it would end badly for  _ Eddie _ weighed in his mind.

This was why he didn’t make friends.

He didn’t want anyone to make so many sacrifices for him.

Eddie’s gaze found the ground. “He didn’t have to do that…”

“He doesn’t have to do a lot of things he does.” She jerked her head towards the side of the building. “Come on. They’re letting us in the back.” Bev led the way again.

Stan put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder after clearing his throat. “Are you good?”

“I’m not.” But not for the reason Stan was thinking.

“We can try and form a wall if we get stuck in a crowd,” Mike offered.

“I wish it were that easy, Mike.” Stan said it before Eddie could. He turned back to Eddie and rubbed his arm. “We’ll play defense, okay? You’ll be alright.”

“Not really me I’m worried about…”

Bev rapped on the door, and it opened, allowing them to head inside. As much as the back entrance helped expedite their entry, beyond their reserved table, the place was standing room only. Getting to their table was going to be hell. Eddie had his jacket, and he had his gloves, but with the close quarters of the room, that didn’t mean anything. He’d learned early that there were no absolutes with his ‘gift’. The only way to avoid it was to stay in. Or maybe live in a hazmat suit.

His chest felt like it was caving in. The music was too loud, and the noise of the excited people brought it to a cacophonic agony. It was moments like this he hated to be himself. He wanted to be anybody else on the planet but Eddie goddamn Kaspbrak.

“Turn around, guys!” Richie’s voice cut through the pain like a beam of light.

Bev stopped walking, and Stan jerked Eddie to a stop so he didn’t walk into her. “What? Why?”

“I’m not doing this. I’m not putting up with my manager going behind my back and pulling this shit, okay.” He gestured to all the people. “This was supposed to be a laid back show, and now there are paparazzi in the front seats! He marketed this as a fucking pre-show!”

“Where do you want us to go?” Bev asked.

“Back outside. I’ll meet you there.” Richie glanced behind him at a man struggling to get through the crowd toward him. He turned back to his friends and locked onto Eddie, and immediately his frustration melted away to sympathy. “Shit, Eds…”

“I’m okay, Richie,” Eddie managed with all the sound he could muster.

Richie gave him a smile. Then he looked up at Stan. “Go ahead and get him out of here, I’ll be out in a minute. Then we’ll figure something out. We’ll do dinner. Go, I’ll catch up.” Richie waved them off, keeping his worried gaze on Eddie a little longer before disappearing past the crowd.

Bev turned and muscled around Stan to lead the way again, and Mike moved back to bring up the rear.

In a way, Eddie was relieved. Out was safe, and here was not. But the larger part of him was disappointed in himself. He was dragging them all down whether they would admit it or not, and it hurt that every single one of them was so ready to cast aside their ease of life for him. For some failed psychic who couldn’t even control his abilities. He felt useless.

Two months, and he was no closer to figuring out how to save Richie. So much time had gone by that every day that passed was just another day closer to the inevitable. This dinner could be the last one he had with Richie.

They were back outside on the sidewalk faster than they’d gotten in. As soon as they cleared the door, Eddie tugged away from Stan and fisted his hands into his pockets, pacing a few steps away.

“Eddie?” Stan called after him.

“Don’t. Okay, just don’t,” Eddie spat.

“What’s the matter?” Bev asked, tilting her head in that maternal way she did so often.

Eddie took a short, sharp breath.  _ “I _ am the matter, okay? It’s me.”

“There’s nothing the matter with you, Eddie,” Mike tried, resting a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “That’s not an easy place for you right now, so we’re going somewhere else, it’s not a big deal.”

“But you shouldn’t fucking have to!” Eddie reached up and gripped his hair too tightly. “I can’t be in the way of everything you want to do, it’s not fair to you.”

Bev bit her lip. “Honey, you’re not in the way of anything.” She hovered closer, but still left plenty of space between them.

At least she had, until some group bustling past to get to the front door of the Rat shoved Eddie from behind. He lost his footing and stumbled directly into Bev, who’s hands came up to catch him.

And all at once, the world spun.

_ “Get off me!” _

_ Pain. Necklace broken. _

_ Bruises. _

_ So many bruises. _

_ “Tell me what you did with him, Bevvy.” _

_ Punch. _

_ “Tom, please-” _

_ “I know you’re fucking that comedian.” _

_ “I’m  _ ** _not!”_ **

_ Kick free. Have to get away. _

** _“Get back here!”_ **

_ Keep running. Down the stairs. _

_ Almost there. _

_ Almost free. _

_ Never coming back, not again. _

** _Crash._ **

_ Vision blurry. _

_ On the ground. Can’t see. _

_ Have to leave. _

_ “I hope he was worth it, you ungrateful bitch.” _

_ A  _ ** _click._ **

_ “T-... Tom, please  _ ** _don’t.”_ **

** _“Nobody else will ever love you.”_ **

** _BANG._ **

Eddie snapped away, and he was immediately caught in Stan’s arms. He was brought to sit down and hyperventilated against Stan’s shoulder as Stan curled around him. “Easy, Eddie… Breathe for me.” Stan sounded shaky. He knew what this meant.

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut. “Dammit! God  _ fucking dammit!” _

He peered over and saw Bev, and really took her in. She looked scared for him, her hands out gently, her nice blouse rumpled. The same blouse she had on in the vision. The same necklace that would be broken. The same pants on legs that would kick and run but not fast enough…

Bev wouldn’t make it through the night.

“I’m so sorry Eddie,” she said, pulling her arms to herself. “I just reacted, I wasn’t thinking-”

“Don’t go home,” Eddie managed, voice breaking and wrecked. “You go to a hotel, you stay with a friend, you sleep on a fucking bench, but don’t go home, please, Bev, promise you won’t go, he’s gonna kill you, he’s gonna-” He trailed off and ducked his head toward the ground.

Stan huffed behind him and gripped him tighter. “Bev, please just… just go get Richie, please.”

He was so tired. He was so tired of these visions that didn’t help. He was tired of pain, he was tired of losing people, and he was tired of being a failure.

Stan stood up slowly and helped him get steady on his feet, but Eddie pushed him away as soon as he was upright. “Don’t touch me.” He looked around and found that Bev was nowhere. She must have done as Stan asked.

When he looked back at Stan, he looked hurt. “Eddie-”

“Stop it.”

“Eddie, how bad-”

“Bad! Okay, it’s all fucking bad, and I don’t know how to fix  _ any of it!” _

Mike stood by Stan’s side, looking confused and concerned. “There is nothing about you to fix, Eddie, you need to relax.”

Eddie pursed his lips. “You need to not butt in to shit you don’t understand, Mike.”

Stan’s face twisted into a stern one. “That’s enough, he’s just trying to help.”

“I don’t need any help,” Eddie bit back. “Nobody can fucking help me, Stan, you’ve dealt with this bullshit for twenty fucking years, and you know it hasn’t gotten any better.”

Stan moved to take a step toward him. “I’m trying, Eddie-”

“I don’t need you to!” Eddie shoved him away.

“Whoa, enough!” Mike stepped between them planting a hand on both their chest to separate them. Eddie’s breath wheezed from his lungs before he could stop it.

_ Everything’s so dark. _

_ Where is the smoke coming from? _

_ Can’t move. _

_ It’s safe in here. _

_ I’m sorry mom. _

_ I’m sorry dad. _

_ Can’t move. _

_ I’m too  _ ** _scared._ **

_ Can’t move. _

_ I’m safe in here. _

_ Can’t move. _

_ Can’t  _ ** _see._ **

_ Can’t  _ ** _breathe._ **

_ “Fuck!” _ Eddie ripped away from Mike’s hand and stumbled against a street light, gripping it like his life depended on it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Mike’s hand was still out, but he didn’t move. “I’m sorry, Eddie, you were going too far. I won’t touch you again, but you need to calm down. You’re not helping yourself or anyone else.”

Eddie looked up at Mike, his eyes red, but they couldn’t remain on him for long.

They fell to Stan, who had frozen still behind Mike with wide eyes. He stared at Eddie like he’d just punched him in the face, and the tears were gathering in those sad eyes.

He knew what it meant.

Stan always knew what it meant.

Eddie’s lip trembled, and he reached up and held his head. “Stan-”

_ “Please don’t,” _ Stan whispered, harsh in his throat.

“I’m sorry-”

“I have to go.” Stan turned away from both of them.

Mike’s confusion increased, and he turned to watch Stan march back to the valet. “Stan? What’s the matter?”

“Mike, could you just go after him please?” Eddie asked, still trembling.

“What about you?”

Eddie gestured vaguely to the Rat. “Bev is getting Richie. I’ll just get a ride home with him. Please,  _ please _ go with Stan.” He swallowed his nerves and forced his legs to stay sturdy. “He needs you, and I can’t tell you why.”

Mike sighed and watched Eddie for a few more moments. Then he looked after Stan. “I don’t know what’s going on, Eddie. I don’t, and I won’t pretend I’ll understand whatever it is. But Stan is worried about you. We’re all worried about you, and you can’t push people away just because you’re scared of being in our way. You’re not.” He turned back to him. “We’re here for you. Not despite you.”

And Mike walked away.

Eddie finally slid down the light post and hugged his knees. He buried his face in them and held his breath.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“Eds?” Richie’s voice came over him like a wash of calm minutes later.

He looked up at him, eyes red, and smiled. “Hey, Trashmouth.”

Richie’s hands were carefully in his pockets. “Where’s Stan?”

Eddie sniffled. “Went home. Mike went with him.” He looked behind him and noticed that Richie was alone. “Where’s Bev…?” he asked, cautiously.

“She also went home.” Richie’s voice sounded wary. “She said you had a breakdown out here and said some… strange things. Didn’t tell me what, but you really spooked her.”

Eddie winced and dropped his head back to his knees. “...Sorry,” he whispered, shoulders shaking. Bev was going home. She was going home to her death, and it was all Eddie’s fault. He’d never be able to apologize enough.

“Hey, you got your gloves on?” Richie asked.

Eddie lifted his head again. “Yeah?”

Richie held out his hands to him. “Come on. Up, up.”

Eddie stared at the hands for a moment before he reached his gloved hands up to take them. He was hefted into a standing position, and Richie immediately let go once he was sure Eddie was standing on his own.

The smile on Richie’s face was softer than Eddie deserved. “Let’s get you home, big guy.”

~

Richie played classic rock on the way to Eddie’s house. It was soft enough that if Eddie wanted to talk over it, he could, but it was loud enough to ease the silence.

Eddie couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what would come out if he did. He had a total of four friends, and three of them were going to die. There was a chance Bev was already dead. He had no idea how much time Richie had left, and Mike was apparently also going to die who knew when. Stan, despite his best efforts, would be alone all over again.

Alone with Eddie.

He felt the car park at the end of its journey, and the music stopped. Richie said nothing, nor did he make any move to get out. Eddie glanced at him and found him staring at him with so much care, it  _ hurt. _ “Taking a lot of willpower not to hug you right now.” He gave Eddie a smile. “I think I should get a medal for this or something.”

Eddie barely managed a smile back. “I’ll let you compromise with yourself.” He reached up and patted his own arm. “Shoulder’s free.”

Richie beamed brighter. He slowly brought his hand to Eddie’s jacket clad shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze. “This okay?”

Eddie sighed deeply and nodded. The jacket was still enough to keep the visions at bay. He reached up his gloved hand and covered Richie’s with it, taking a slow, deep breath. He could feel the warmth of Richie through the glove, and it was comforting, despite everything that had happened. Despite everything that  _ would _ happen.

He lifted his head to catch Richie’s unreadable gaze and smiled again. “Thanks, Richie. For everything.”

Richie gave him a short nod. “Can I walk you to the door?”

“Yeah.”

Richie hopped out of the car. He rounded the car before Eddie even got his belt off and opened the door for him to let him out. He threw a quarter in the meter and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry for whatever happened tonight. And I’m sorry my manager fucked with everything. I know that crowd must have been terrible.”

“Is he angry at you? All those people were there for you, and you just… left.” Eddie fidgeted.

Richie snickered. “He can be angry all he fucking wants. I went there of my own volition to do a leisurely open mic for my friends, and he tried to turn my day off into work. He can kiss my ass.”

Eddie smiled and ducked his head. “...I’m sorry I’m so… fucked.” He gave a nervous laugh. Richie didn’t respond immediately, so he kept going. “I’m not easy to get along with, and I ruin plans on  _ good _ days because of this stupid… phobia. I know everyone tries to make me comfortable, but I’m always so worried I’m making it worse for everyone around me. So… thank you.” He smiled at the ground. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

He looked up.

And Richie was too close.

And then Richie was kissing him.

And the world fell down again.

** _God please somebody help me._ **

Eddie ripped away from Richie so hard, he collided with the facade of the building. He gripped his chest as he struggled to catch his breath, eyes shut tightly against the tears bubbling in his eyes. It never got easier to see it happen. It never got easier to feel what Richie would go through.

And Richie just kissed him.

_ He kissed him. _

Eddie forced his eyes open to look at Richie, and the man looked  _ haunted. _ He looked ashamed, and he stared at the ground like he wanted it to swallow him up. Eddie devoured a large breath. “Richie-”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, that was-” Richie ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “That was so fucking stupid, I’ll go. I shouldn’t have-... I’m just gonna go.” Richie turned from him and made his way down the stairs.

Eddie felt frozen. Richie had kissed him. Everything he’d assumed about Richie from the get-go was wrong. And he liked Eddie.  _ He liked Eddie. _ Despite everything-- his grating personality, his phobia, his mannerisms, his habits-- Richie liked  _ him. _

His legs launched him off the stoop just as Richie reached his car. “Richie!” He skidded to a stop a few feet away, hands rigid at his sides. “I don’t touch people.”

Richie blinked at him. “I-... I know.”

“I don’t, but I touch you on purpose.” Eddie couldn’t let him leave. He had to be honest with Richie. He had to tell him. “I do it because I’m trying to save you. I’m trying to save your life.”

Richie’s brows dipped in confusion. “...I don’t understand what you mean.”

Eddie took a deep breath and let it go. “When I touch people, I-... I see them die. If it’s unnatural, or awful, I see it, and when you- you saved me that day from the bus, I saw you die. I’ve been trying to keep it from happening. I’ve been trying to see more of it so I can tell when it happens, so maybe I can stop it, I-...” He trailed off and looked up at Richie, hoping he was listening,  _ praying _ that he was taking him seriously.

Richie looked numb. A light had left his eyes, and he looked defeated. Cold. Richie pursed his lips and turned away from him, walking around to the driver’s side of his car.

Eddie panicked and hurried after him. “Richie-”

Richie yanked his door open. “You know, you can just say you don’t want it.”

Eddie’s insides seized. “What? No, Richie-”

“I made a  _ mistake,” _ Richie bit the word too hard. “Okay, I misread the situation, you can just tell me that. You don’t have to lie.”

Eddie felt his breathing grow shallow. “I’m not. I’m not lying, I’m not-”

“Look, I promised you tickets to the Orpheum show, you’ll still get those, but I have to go.” He sat in his car and started it.

Eddie’s hands were fists at his sides. “Richie, I’m not lying! Please!”

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you. It won’t happen again.” Richie’s door shut. The car sped off. And then he was gone.

The sob wrenched itself from Eddie’s chest before he remembered to breathe. He dropped to his knees and covered his mouth, shutting his eyes against a relentless flow of tears.

Richie didn’t believe him. Worse, he had taken it as a sign that Eddie didn’t return his feelings. Just by being himself, he’d managed not only to guarantee he would lose his new friend, but he’d broken Richie’s heart as well. He couldn’t do anything right.

He was going to lose everyone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

~


	4. It Pours

When Eddie finally forced himself to stand and go upstairs, he was hollow. He felt like he’d cried every last ounce of tears from his body, and there was nothing left. But somehow, he was going to have to find some when he inevitably received the news of Bev’s death. And then Mike’s.

And then Richie’s.

He leaned his head against the pane of his door, unable to go inside. With any luck, Stan wouldn’t be home. He’d be with Mike, trying to get those last few days or weeks or months in before the undeterminable deadline he now had thanks to Eddie. On the one hand, that would mean that Eddie would be alone now, but at least Stan would be with someone who didn’t drag him down so much.

On the other hand, Eddie was terrified of being alone.

He unlocked the door slowly and pushed it open. At first, Eddie thought his hopes were answered-- that Stan wasn’t home and had chosen instead to be with Mike-- but as he turned to lock the door, he noticed a monotonous sound coming from the other side of the apartment. It was a continuous sound, unmusical, like a train going over a track as heard through a wall. The rattling of dozens of plastic marbles in a bucket. The crashing of something against porcelain-

The bath in Stan’s room was running.

Eddie forgot about his shoes and bolted for Stan’s door, which was ajar. Eddie hadn’t touched Stan after he saw Mike’s death. He hadn’t thought about how learning such a thing would affect him. Stan, who was sweet and sensitive and scared, and who had almost gone from this world before his time by his own hand because life was just too much. Stan had always been safe. Nothing had ever changed before now. Eddie hadn’t thought the change in Stan’s life could have been Eddie’s fault. He made it to Stan’s door and shoved it open like his life depended on it.

And there was Stan, seated on his bed, staring at the open bathroom door as the tub filled. He was still alive. Eddie let out the breath he was holding. That didn’t mean it wasn’t still happening. “Stan-”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Pandora’s box,” came Stan’s hushed, trembling voice.

Eddie swallowed hard. “...You have?”

Stan nodded. “You remember the last thing that was supposed to be in it?”

“Hope?” Eddie offered, stepping into the room slowly.

Stan snorted. “We should be so lucky.” He looked down at the floor, where his toes were dancing over the soft carpeting. “The gods gave her a box of evil, terrible things, why would they put something good inside of it that already existed outside? No.” Stan lifted his head to Eddie, and Eddie nearly reeled back from how stressed he looked-- as if the past twenty years of dealing with Eddie had finally come to the surface. “Pandora shut the box before the last evil could escape, which _ gave _ us hope. The last thing in that fucking goodie box from hell was ‘foreboding’.” He turned away and looked back at the tub. “The knowledge of all of those other bad things that got out. Knowing they were coming, and how terrible it would all be.”

Eddie’s hands trembled as he stepped ever closer. “Stan-”

“I’m starting to think she didn’t shut the box in time,” Stan continued. “And this is what it feels like.”

Eddie fiddled with his gloves and ripped them off, dropping them to the floor as he approached. “I’m sorry,” He forced out, weak and shuddery. “I don’t want to see the things that I do. I don’t want to pull you into this bullshit, and I’m so sorry I did, but I need you to-... You can’t-... Please don’t-” He couldn’t form the words.

Stan turned his head sharply to him. He spotted Eddie’s hand reaching for his head and looked almost offended. “Don’t _ what?” _ He stood up and away from him. “You think I’m gonna try again?”

Eddie pulled his hands to his chest, feeling smaller than he ever had. “I don’t-”

“You think I’m gonna leave you because things are getting bad?” Stan’s arms were stiff at his sides. “You think I’d leave you with that mess to clean up? You think I would fucking do that to you!?”

“I _ don’t know!” _ Eddie shrieked, his voice a panic and his eyes burning.

Stan lunged forward and took Eddie’s face in his hands. Eddie went completely rigid as he waited for something to collide with his chest and knock the wind out of him, as he waited for the darkness to swallow him into it again.

But nothing came. The only feeling was Stan’s cold, trembling hands on his face. He shut his eyes, and the tears escaped, running over Stan’s long fingers.

“See anything?”

Eddie shook his head. “No.”

Stan’s hands suddenly felt sturdy on his face. Firmer than they ever had. “I would _ never _ do that to you.” When Eddie opened his eyes, Stan’s face was stern, but the tears were spilling anyway. He was hurting. He looked betrayed. Eddie lifted his hands to cover Stan’s and sobbed.

“I’m just so scared, Stan,” He said, his voice a strangled whisper. “I’m so scared all the time, and I have four fucking friends, and I’m going to _ lose three- _ I might have lost one already, and I couldn’t-...” He ducked his head and gripped Stan’s hands harder. “I couldn’t take it if I was going to lose you too, please don’t be mad, please don’t be-”

Stan pulled his hands away but only to gather Eddie in his arms. He clung tightly, as tight as he’d done when they were kids, and Eddie had nearly broken down his door to keep him from hurting himself. Eddie’s arms flew around his waist, and he buried his face in Stan’s shoulder. He stilled had Stan. For now, he still had him.

“I’m not mad,” Stan said into his hair, one hand holding the back of his head. “I’m sad, and I’m upset, and I-” Stan sniffled and trembled against Eddie. “I don’t know what it’s like to be you and to have this in you all the time. I’m not good at it. And I’m scared too, Eddie.” He pulled away. “So I need a minute. I need to think.” Stan held his face again. “You should lie down.”

Eddie leaned into the hands a moment longer and nodded. Stan slipped away slowly, and the bathroom door shut. Eddie made note that he did _ not _ hear the lock click afterward. Stan was shutting him out, but he was also ensuring that Eddie knew he could still be reached. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Eddie shuffled back to his own room. He kicked off his shoes and changed into his pajamas. He brushed his teeth and washed his face. Then, instead of crawling into his own bed, he made his way back to Stan’s room and climbed into his.

He laid there, for the better part of an hour, curled fetally on his side and completely alone, focusing so hard on every little sound Stan made until it gave him a headache. Eventually the bathroom door opened, and he heard a soft breath of amusement. Then, after a few seconds, the light in the room switched off, and Stan climbed into bed behind him. He tucked up against Eddie’s back, and one arm slid over his waist and under his arm. Eddie caught that hand between both of his and held it to his chest, trying his best not to cry all over Stan’s pillows. Stan nuzzled into the back of his head and sighed.

Eddie felt his throat tighten. “...Richie didn’t believe me,” he said, words wobbling. “I don’t know what else to do…”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to know.”

“If I don’t know, we lose them.”

Stan clung a little tighter. “And that’s not your fault.” His fingers laced with Eddie’s. “It’s never been your fault.”

~

Eddie woke up alone. That was to be expected; Stan worked that day, and no amount of ‘I’ve learned from a psychic my boyfriend is going to die’ was going to fly as an excuse to miss the day. Eddie understood that. He did.

But he still felt cold, despite the heavy blanket Stan made sure to wrap him in before he left. He sat up and shivered, looking around the sunlit room. Stan kept his space clean, but not nearly as neurotically immaculate as Eddie did. There was something warm and inviting about Stan’s room. Eddie had always noticed it on his bad days.

He climbed out of the bed and habitually made it. He fluffed the pillows and tucked them back into place, and the blanket was flattened lovingly over them. He made his way out to the kitchen, and coffee was already made. The maker was off, but there was a note stuck to the nearly full pot in Stan’s careful handwriting.

**May have to microwave.**

**Take the day OFF.**

**I MEAN IT.**

**Love you,**

**-Stan**

Eddie smiled at the note and held it to his chest. “Yes sir,” he mumbled to no one.

He poured himself a cold cup and put it in the microwave, setting the timer for a minute. As he watched the cup spin, he heard his phone’s text tone trill across the apartment. Eddie checked a clock and noted that it was nearly eleven. It was likely Stan, checking in, so he moved to his room where he’d left his phone and plucked it off of the night stand.

A text from Bev lit up the screen.

**How did you know?**

Eddie’s legs gave out and dropped him straight to the floor. His eyes bubbled over, and he covered his mouth with his free hand. Somewhere in the distance, the microwave beeped that his coffee was ready, but Eddie had already forgotten about it.

Bev was alive.

_ Bev was alive. _

He fumbled with the phone to open the message and sent off an immediate reply.

**Can you come over?**

He curled his knees up to his chest and leaned against the bed, staring at the screen for the reply. When it came, he closed his eyes and gave a sobbing sigh of relief.

**Address**

He sent the address off and dropped his head back to the bed. Bev was alive. It was slipshod, but he’d managed to save someone else, at least for the time being. She was alive, and she was coming over. Maybe she would listen. Maybe she would believe him.

All he had to do was wait for her to arrive.

It didn’t take her long. The buzzer for the front door went off on Eddie’s phone, and he pressed a button to allow her up. Moments later, there was a knock on the door, and Eddie undid the locks and yanked it open.

Bev was still in the same outfit as the night before. The blouse wasn’t torn, the necklace was still in one piece, around her neck where it belonged, and there wasn’t a single bruise on her. Her face was… puzzled. Her wide eyes didn’t know what to expect from coming here, and he didn’t blame her clear hesitance.

But he couldn’t focus on that now.

“Eddie, you-... you look terrible,” she said, perhaps just trying to break the silence.

Eddie reached his hand out to her, slowly, fearfully, and brushed her bare forearm where bruises would have been if he hadn’t said anything. He felt the warmth of her body, he heard her soft gasp of shock at the contact, and he saw her face grow into one of awe.

And he didn’t see a single vision. Bev was going to live. Eddie felt his face contort in agonized relief, and he dove past the doorway to wrap her in a hug. “Thank _ god,” _ he whispered.

Bev took a moment before curling her arms around him as well. She rubbed his back soothingly and sniffled once. “I think you have a little explaining to do, Eddie.” There wasn’t any warning in her words, but Eddie nodded into her shoulder anyway.

“I hope you came with an open mind.” He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

He led her inside and shut the door behind her. He prepared another cup of coffee alongside his own that he’d forgotten about and served it to Bev as she sat by the counter on one of their stools. He then sat beside her and stared into his cup.

After a few minutes of silence, Bev spoke first. “I’d never told anybody about how Tom was. I haven’t even told Richie.” She sipped her coffee and took a slow breath. “I got home last night, and he was just… standing there. In the window. I don’t know what stopped me from going in, but I just-” She closed her eyes and swallowed too hard. “There was something in his eyes. After what you said, I knew if I went in there, I wasn’t coming out, so I drove.” She opened her eyes again and turned them straight to Eddie. “How did you know? _ Nobody _ knew, ever. He was careful, I never had a bruise anybody could see… But you knew.”

Eddie bit his lip and ran his finger along the brim of his mug. He took a slow breath, the memory of Richie’s disdain for this same confession fresh, but maybe, which the facts behind them, Bev would be different. “I saw it happen,” he finally said, more to his coffee than Bev. “When I touched you, I saw it. I felt it. He hurt you, and then he-... and then he shot you.”

Bev flinched. “...You saw it?”

Eddie nodded.

“You _ felt it?” _

Eddie nodded again, closing his eyes against the doubt he knew was coming. “If somebody is going to die young, I’ll see it when I touch them. I… experience it.” He huffed. “I die with them I guess, a little bit, and then I’m back again, like it didn’t happen.” His fingers drummed a nervous beat on the sides of his mug. Any minute now, she’d leave. Any minute, she’d tell him he was insane.

“So all those times you had a panic attack after touching,” she said instead, “it was because of the visions…?” Eddie nodded and looked up at her. He saw the gears turning and watched her face grow sorrowful. “Eddie… All those times with _ Richie.” _ Her voice was careful, almost hopeful as if she wanted to be wrong. Bev had been present for many of Eddie’s efforts to see Richie’s death again. Now that she was doing the math, she clearly didn’t like the result.

Eddie managed another nod, a deep, saddened one. “Richie saved my life, and I-... I want to return the favor. I can’t let him die, Bev.”

Bev hummed carefully and looked into her coffee as if it were a crystal ball. “So you’ve been hanging out with him because of some obligation you feel toward him?

The guilt found Eddie’s throat as he remembered watching Richie march to his car and drive away. Richie must have told Bev about his feelings, so it made sense that she was protective. They’d been friends for decades after all, and Eddie knew he’d do the same for Stan.

“No,” Eddie answered, honestly and firm. “I won’t lie and say it didn’t start that way, but now I-” His words froze in his mouth. There was a four letter word in his throat that it was way too early to say. “I care too much. He’s the second person I’ve been able to call my friend, in my _ life, _ and the thought of losing him is-....” He stopped and sucked in a breath. “...I’ve died with him a dozen times, Bev, and I don’t know what to do or how to stop it. And I’m so fucking scared I’m not enough to save him.”

The answer seemed to change something in Beverly. She turned and looked him in the eye. “So ask for help,” she said, pointedly, with a gentle smile in place.

Eddie managed a weak smile in return and sniffled. “Bev, please help me save Richie.”

“You know I will.” She reached over and took Eddie’s hand.

There continued to only be blissful peace from the warmth of her fingers, and Eddie squeezed that hand in his. Bev was safe. She was alive. And she _ believed him. _

After their coffees, they migrated to the couch. Bev kept her hand on Eddie’s arm, as if making up for all the times she looked like she desperately wanted to hug the fear and anxiety out of him but couldn’t. “There hasn’t been a single clue where it happens?”

“I can’t tell. Everything’s too blurry, and Richie’s-” He closed his eyes. “He’s too scared to focus.”

Bev gave Eddie’s arm another squeeze. “How is-... How does he-...”

“Beaten,” Eddie said, knowing it did no good to beat around the bush. “Stabbed.”

Bev bit her lip. She swallowed her fear and closed her eyes against the idea. “There must be something. You don’t recognize the person responsible?”

Eddie flinched again. “People,” he corrected, weakly.

A righteous fury lit in Bev, and she stared hard out the window. “If I find out who’s planning this, I’m gonna kill them myself.”

“Get in line,” Eddie mumbled.

Bev pondered for a moment. Her eyes focused on the surface of the coffee table. Her head then lifted with wide eyes, and she turned them on Eddie again. “What’s Richie wearing?”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

“What’s he wearing?” A smile drifted onto her worried face. “I’m responsible for dressing that idiot, maybe I’ll recognize it.”

“Uh,” Eddie looked down at his lap and tried to remember. He closed his eyes and forced himself to dive back into that memory. Blurry as it was, he’d seen it so many times now, he had it memorized. He remembered seeing Richie’s trembling hands, thin wrists sprouting from long, dark sleeves. He remembered staring at the blood from the first stab, bubbling over and blending in with a red dress shirt that Eddie didn’t even know Richie was capable of wearing. He pulled himself out of the memory with a shake and bit his lip. “Uh, he’s… he’s in a black blazer I think. Red shirt. That’s all I could see.”

Bev’s eyes grew wider. She fished her phone out of her pocket and immediately began a hunt for something. “Was it this?” She turned her phone enthusiastically to Eddie, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest.

It was a photo of Richie in exactly what he would die in. He was wearing a black blazer over a burgundy dress shirt and black slacks. His feet still sported those ratty converse, and he was pouting there, like a put-out child who’d been dressed for school and didn’t get a say in what he got to wear. Eddie’s trembling hands took the phone, and he stared at that pout, meaning to take in the outfit but being unable to look anywhere but that face. “T-... That’s it. This is it, this is what he dies in, Bev, when was-”

“A week ago. I’ve tailored it for him.” She looked just as breathless as Eddie felt. _ “Eddie, _ this is what he’s wearing to the Orpheum!”

A laugh escaped Eddie’s chest in desperation. “We have a date.”

“We have a date!” Bev rocked forward and pulled Eddie into another hug, holding his head against her shoulder. “This is perfect! He must get attacked after the show. We just have to warn him what’s going to happen, and make sure he stays somewhere safe!”

Eddie felt his ecstasy begin to wane. He frowned and squeezed his eyes shut. “No, we-... We can’t warn him, he won’t listen.” He lifted his head from her shoulder and gave her an apologetic look. “I’ve already tried telling him. He doesn’t believe me.” He then looked down between them again. “He’s-... He’s upset with me.”

Bev blinked at him, studying him. She nursed her bottom lip for a moment before looking determined as ever. “I’ll stay with him. I can’t go home, obviously, so I’ll talk to Richie about-… about Tom and stay with him. Then I’ll just make sure he’s with me the whole day of his Orpheum gig. I’ll make sure he comes with me when he’s done.”

“You think you could manage that?”

Bev snorted. “I’m basically a staff member. I’ll get him to ensure I have backstage privileges. I _ am _ his stylist after all.” She beamed at him. “And then after everything, maybe you can talk.”

Eddie broke out into a smile. “Do you think he’ll listen?”

“Bitch, I’ll _ make _ him listen.”

Eddie laughed in his embarrassment and ducked his head into her shoulder again. He was elated. For the first time in months, he finally had a plan. He asked for help rather than try to deal with it himself, and he could maybe, finally, end this. Bev would be with Richie on the day he was supposed to die. He’d changed something. Everything was going to be okay.

He just had to somehow shake off the horrible feeling that it _ wasn’t. _

~

Bev stayed with Eddie another couple of hours. He had talked about his mother, and how she’d become distant, mentally abusive, and overprotective in his youth. Bev shared a story about her father, and they compared notes, as it were.

Then she shared stories about Richie. She talked about being children and playing around in forests. They’d jumped off many bridges into slow moving rivers just after school. If Bev’s father was ever particularly nasty, she’d spend nights at Richie’s place, where he gentlemanly offered up his bed and slept himself on every other pillow in the house crammed into his closet. Bev got away from her father and moved in with her aunt in California, and Richie, who never met a challenge he didn’t laugh at, followed her out a few years later. He waited tables and performed stand-up for tips at any open mic he could, eventually ending up in the right place at the right time. He was snagged by a scout, and the rest was history.

Eddie’s favorite part was when Bev broke out the pictures she kept on her phone. Bev had made sure to scan and save every single polaroid they’d ever taken, and she and Richie were the most photogenic, chaotic children Eddie had ever seen. They seemed to go on countless, local, childlike adventures, and many of the photos even featured another boy called Ben (Bev boasted him as their voice of reason and the only reason neither of them were dead already; “I wonder how he’s been doing,” Bev had mused, wistfully). Richie had apparently worn glasses his entire life, and they only got bigger the younger he was in the pictures. His sense of style hadn’t changed a bit, all graphic t-shirts under those same, novelty print button-downs that made him look like condensed sunshine and laughter. And no matter the photo-- fallen in an ice rink, drenched from the rain, stuck in a jungle gym, careening down a hill on his bike-- he was always, _ always _ smiling.

It made that awful, broken look on Richie’s face the night before hurt that much worse.

Eventually, Bev did leave, but not before sending Eddie one of the photos of thirteen year old Richie, seated with his legs dangling off a bridge and smiling down at the water. It was a peaceful photo of no worries, no stress, and no expectations-- just a boy about to leap, not knowing or caring where the future was headed.

If Eddie made it the background of his phone, he didn’t tell Bev.

After she’d gone, it didn’t take long for restlessness to take over Eddie. He had saved another friend. He had potentially saved two of them. Perhaps Bev being alive was key in keeping Richie from his own demise, so he’d successfully killed-- well, saved-- two birds with one stone.

That left Mike. Mike, who was going to suffocate in a smoke-filled room with only his terror as company. Mike who was going to die alone.

He’d apologize to Stan later, but Eddie would not be taking the day off today.

An hour later found him in front of the library where he knew Mike worked, gloves hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. He just had to fix this one. And so, with a deep, steadying breath, he opened the door.

The library was quiet, as libraries were wont to be, and there weren’t many people around. There seemed to be a few people on staff, and he wandered to the counter where a young woman sat checking in books. “Excuse me, is Mike Hanlon here?”

She glanced up and smiled at him. “Oh, yes, he’s shelving in the horror and mystery section.”

Eddie nodded and paced away from her. “Fitting. Thank you.”

The library was old, likely what appealed Mike to the job to begin with (one of his first dates with Stan was spent going on and on about the historical sites, and Stan had loved every fucking second of it). The shelves were heavy, dark wood and absurdly tall, and at least half of the books on them required a ladder to reach. As he walked past them, Eddie couldn’t help but feel small. Finally, he reached one where a familiar face was half way up the ladder with a short stack of books under his arm.

“Mike?” Eddie called a little hushed against the soft quiet of the room.

Mike glanced down and gave him a tight, forced smile. “Eddie. How’s it going?” He didn’t stop shelving and looked away as soon as he saw him.

Either he was still upset with him for the night before, or something had happened. It occurred to Eddie that he hadn’t known why Stan was alone when he got home. “Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you about something.” There was no use putting it off.

Mike took a slow breath and sighed it out, as if he was preparing himself for something big. “Yeah, I can take a fifteen.” He made his way back down the ladder and set the books on top of the rack where many other returns awaited reshelving. He put his own hands in his pockets and turned that pained smile to Eddie again. “You mind if we take this out back?”

Mike led the way past the shelves and walked Eddie through the office space where only the employees could go. He continued past paperwork and computers and down a hall, and then opened a back door where a few lawn chairs sat around a rickety, plastic table. Mike did not sit down. Eddie remained standing as well. When the door shut, Mike turned to him slowly.

“What am I missing?” He asked, tilting his head and smiling a little sadly. He looked resolved and peaceful, like he always did. “I don’t pry with Stan about what you two have, but last night was-... confusing. I’m obviously missing a lot, and whatever it is was enough for Stan to drop me off at home as soon as we left.” Mike looked at the ground. “You two had an entire conversation without words, and somehow it meant that he couldn’t even look at me after.” He finally looked up. “So what am I missing?”

Eddie took a deep breath and looked at the ground. “A lot…? I’m not entirely sure where to start.”

Mike nodded closing his eyes. Then he tugged one of the chairs out from the table and finally had a seat, leaning on his hand. “May as well get the tough part out of the way then.”

Eddie hissed an awkward laugh and slowly sat in another available chair. “I’m working on it.”

“Did he send you here to tell me it’s over?”

“What?” Eddie stared at him, eyes suddenly wide, and shook his head. “No! God, you’re already in the wrong book, Mike.” He bit his lip and steeled his nerves. He had to do this. “I’m not going to lie and say it’s not my fault Stan has never been in a relationship, okay? It absolutely is, but not for the reason you’re probably thinking. He couldn’t look at you after last night because he knows-...” He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds before opening them and locking them on Mike. “He knows what I saw.”

Mike’s brow dipped low. “What you saw?”

Eddie knew he had to approach his next move carefully. Discussing his ability was like a game of chess, but all the pieces were unfamiliar, and nobody had ever explained to him what each piece did. Until now, his go-to was just to angrily offer unsolicited medical and safety advice without ever bringing up why. He never had any guarantee that it worked. It had never been important until now.

And so, he thought back to the vision of Mike’s death. He remembered the trembling hands and feeling the dry surface of the tub beneath his fingers. He remembered low visibility but still being able to make out the blue of the bathroom wall. But mostly, he remembered an incredibly familiar feeling. He remembered his heart pounding, and his body rigid with terror. He remembered breath coming up short long before the smoke ever squeezed his lungs dry. He remembered vision blackening around the edges before the smoke had encased everything.

In the vision, Mike wasn’t moving, wasn’t running, wasn’t even going to the window for help or air because he was having a panic attack.

“Why are you afraid of fire?” Eddie asked.

Mike’s eyes widened. The resolve had fled and left behind something shocked and indescribable. “...How did you-...?”

“I have visions,” Eddie said, quickly to get out as soon as possible. If he didn’t do it now, he’d chicken out. “If I touch somebody who’s going to die in some awful way, I see it.” He sat back in his seat. “Your apartment building catches fire, and you seize up and hide in the bathroom. You panic.”

Mike kept on staring. He looked like he was piecing a puzzle together slowly, but Eddie couldn’t tell if it was leading to belief or anger.

Eddie looked down at the table. “Stan knows what I see. He knows what it looks like when I have a vision. He couldn’t look at you after you left because he knows I saw you die, and he’s so scared of losing you, Mike.”

Mike closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, leaving it over his mouth. He looked up to the sky for a moment and took a slow, steadying breath. He left the silence there for a few minutes, and Eddie didn’t once try to fill it. He had to let Mike take this in on his own. He couldn’t push it.

Then finally, Mike spoke. “I haven’t even told Stan this,” he began, leaning his arms on the table. “I lost my parents in a fire. I was real young, but just old enough to remember, and it’s still to this day the clearest memory I have. Stan knows I was an orphan, but I never told him how.” He looked down at the table and gave a laugh. “I can’t even sit around a campfire without needing a minute to myself.”

Eddie nodded carefully. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been awful.” He wished his words had come out stronger.

Mike nodded and leaned his head on his fists. “...You know, I never thought I would really-... really _ believe _ anything otherworldly or spiritual. I always thought if any of that existed, maybe my folks would visit me as ghosts or something. To tell me it wasn’t my fault they died, tell me it was all okay, but none of that ever happened.” He filled a pause with a sigh. “Did dream a lot about birds though.”

Eddie blinked, not sure what point Mike was trying to make. “Birds?”

“Mm-hm. I spent years trying to figure out what it all meant, as if somehow these bird dreams could be deciphered into the answers to all the questions I had. When I worked on the farm, I remembered thinking maybe the chickens would show me something, or lead me somewhere.” Mike laughed again. “I know it sounds stupid, but ten-year-old me was pretty desperate for anything to make sense.”

“Did it ever make sense?” Eddie asked.

Mike looked up and met his eyes, lowering his hands to the table. “Two months ago, a skinny little thing came into my library with the nicest eyes I’ve seen in years, fumbling his way through asking about field guides of birds native to California. You tell me.” He was _ beaming. _

Eddie’s heart swelled in his chest, and he couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his face. He remembered now when Stan had come home with the book in question, and he knew that many of Stan’s ‘errands’ ran him by the library. He should have known earlier than he did that there must have been something special there-- some_one _ special.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m a little more opened minded now than I was a few months ago.” Mike leaned back in his chair, making the cheap plastic bend. He looked a little nervous now. “So… what do I do? How do I avoid-... because if it’s fire, I can’t- can’t _ not _ freeze up, it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know it doesn’t. I was thinking about that, too. How you can avoid something you can’t help, especially if I can’t tell you when it happens? So,” Eddie fisted his hands back on the table. “Avoid it completely. Move out.”

Mike’s mouth startled open. “Wh-... When?”

“Soon. Today. Now, honestly, if we really want to be safe about it. You can stay with us.” Eddie’s leg bounced beneath the table. “I know it’s really soon to be moving in with somebody you’re dating, and I know this is starting to sound like a weird scam to get you to move in with people you’ve only known a couple months, but you can even have my room, or we’ll help you look for another place while you’re staying with us or something, just-”

“Eddie, relax!” Mike held his hands up to stop him. Then he smiled again. “I’ll do it. At least until I can find somewhere else to go. I’ve been meaning to move out of that place anyway, it’s too far from the library, and I’m in no hurry to die.” He tilted his head. “Got your gloves on?” He stuck out his hand for shaking.

Eddie eyed the hand and then looked down at his own gloved ones. Then without another moment’s hesitation, he yanked them off and grabbed Mike’s hand before he could pull away.

Nothing came. No vision. No smoke. No fear. Eddie laughed and stood so fast that the chair fell over. He rounded the table, not once letting go of the surprised Mike’s hand, and yanked him into a hug against his chest. Eddie had saved him. Mike was also going to avoid his awful fate. He’d done it.

Mike laughed with him and patted his back. “I’ll take this as a good sign!”

And it was.

~

Mike took the rest of the day off. They both went to Mike’s apartment and gathered the essentials. Moving everything he had would be difficult in a day, but Eddie was pleased to see that he lived rather light. He knew if they employed Stan’s help, Mike would be fully moved out in a few short days. They’d figure out where Mike would go from there, either to stay or find another place, and everything would be fine.

As a final nail in the coffin that was Mike’s demise, Eddie had made his way to the bathroom. He recognized the deep blue of the walls before he even set foot inside. Once he did, there was the familiar tub, where Mike would hide and succumb to the smoke.

But he wouldn’t. Not anymore.

Eddie had taken a slow breath and sat in the tub, leaning back and staring at the ceiling as if staring fate in the face and mocking it. “You won’t get this one either,” he’d said to nobody. “Not this time.”

Mike had found him there having his moment in the tub, and by the look on his face, he understood why. He understood that this was where it was supposed to happen. He’d held out his hand after taking an affirming breath and helped Eddie out of the tub, and then it was off to home.

Mike tucked his bag out of the way once they were inside, and from there, they waited. By the time they’d gotten back, Stan was a mere hour away from being home. They made conversation right up until Eddie heard a light thud outside the door. He checked the time, and it was about now that Stan would be getting home if he had no errands to run. Eddie wandered to the door and looked out of the peep hole to see Stan was standing there taking a deep composing breath and looking afraid.

Eddie glanced back at Mike. “Stay there a second.” He waited for a nod before he unlatched the door and tugged it open.

Stan startled, but only until Eddie made his way into the hall and shut the door behind him. “Why is Mike’s car in the parking lot…?” Stan asked, his voice wavering. “I’m not- I’m not ready to see him yet, I still need a-”

“He cares about you, Stan. A lot. He’s worried about you, it’s okay.” Eddie smiled at him. “I asked him to come over.”

“Eddie-”

“I know you’re scared, all right? I know you are. But you’ll feel better if you see him. Trust me.” Eddie reached behind him and opened the door, taking Stan’s hand.

Stan held his breath as he was led inside, dropping his briefcase by the door. He didn’t shed his coat or his shoes, and instead stared rigidly at the floor.

Mike was standing as they entered, and he took a few steps towards them. “Hey, Stan. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve- I’ve been better,” Stan told the floor.

“So I’ve heard.” Mike chuckled in response.

Eddie tugged Stan the last few feet and didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, in full view of Stan’s lowered gaze, he reached out and took Mike’s hand as well, skin on skin, no gloves or fabric of any kind in the way. He heard Stan’s gasp and looked at him in time to see his wide eyes snap to his face. Eddie’s smile was sheepish. “I told him what I see. He listened.” Eddie pulled their hands together and finally let go.

Mike’s smile was lighting up the room, and Stan’s awe reflected every beam. “I hope you don’t mind if I crash on your couch for a little while. Apparently my apartment is gonna be getting some unplanned interior work, and I’m not really about all that.” Mike squeezed Stan’s hand.

Stan let go of his hand only to lurch forward and throw his arms around Mike’s neck, pulling him into the tightest hug he could muster. Eddie looked on with soft relief. Stan was okay. Mike was okay. Bev was okay, and she was going to make sure Richie was too. Everything was finally where it needed to be.

After a few more seconds of Stan mumbling apologies into Mike’s ear and Mike gently soothing him, Stan pulled away to snag a throw pillow from the couch and chuck it at Eddie’s face. “God, _ lead _ with that next time, asshole!” Stan’s words were angry, but the smile in place on his tearful face said that it wasn’t real. Stan was ecstatic.

Eddie barely caught the pillow after it collided with his head, holding it like a shield. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know how to just say it!”

Stan scoffed and lifted a second pillow. “‘Hey Stan, by the way, your boyfriend’s here because he’s not going to die anymore’ is a _ complete sentence!” _ He swung the pillow at Eddie again, which Eddie blocked with a laugh.

The laughter continued to fill the apartment into the evening as Stan got comfortable, and Mike unpacked for however long it would take him to find a new place. Stan made dinner that they ate standing around the kitchen rather than seated anywhere. Eddie made a mental note to pick up another chair for their dining table, but until then, watching Stan try to keep from turning bright red as Mike stood at his side with his arm snaked around his waist was a precious side-effect. There was no way Eddie could stand in their way now. They didn’t have to have any secrets from each other. They could be happy. Stan could finally be happy in the way he always needed to.

They’d finished eating and made their way to the living room to watch cooking shows into the night. When it was late enough for sleepiness to set in, Eddie stood to hunt for a blanket for Mike, but before he could, Stan’s hands tentatively found Mike’s and pulled him up and after him. Mike’s momentary confusion bloomed into another sweet smile, and Eddie could only grin at them as it was clear; Stan was not about to let Mike sleep on the couch, especially now that he’d just dodged death.

Eddie turned his grin into a glare as they reached the doorway. “You two better not keep me up. These walls are not that thick,” he teased.

Stan’s shoulders tensed and a blush bloomed on his face. He spun to glare right back. “We are going to _ sleep, _ Eddie. I have _ work _ in the morning.”

Eddie arched a doubtful eyebrow at him. “That doesn’t mean shit.”

Mike laughed as Eddie walked away to the second bathroom, and he swore he heard Stan mutter something about knowing where he sleeps before he shut the door. Eddie brushed his teeth and washed his face. He changed into his pajamas and strode to his bed with lighter steps than he’d ever taken before in his life.

Everyone he cared about was going to live. For the second time in his life, he was finally able to do something about the visions he had, and everything was going to be okay. It was a foreign feeling, like it didn’t belong to him, but he was going to hold onto it for as long as he could.

He flopped into his bed and stared at the ceiling, tracing the tiled pattern with his eyes as he thought about Stan and Mike, happy and in each other’s arms a room over. He pictured that real, beautiful smile on Stan’s face, that true happiness that Eddie knew he’d always been looking for, and he sighed in exhausted relief.

And then Eddie wondered if _ he _ could be allowed that. He was absolutely happy, knowing his friends were going to live, but the idea of being able to hold someone in his arms like that-- to feel _ love _ like that-- was such an alluring thing he’d never let himself think of until right now. Not even when Stan was teasing Eddie for his obvious attraction to Richie, and not even when he was with Richie himself. Not even when Richie kissed him.

But now, with the specter of the future no longer bearing down on him, he let himself see it. He remembered the soft brush of Richie’s lips that he felt just before the vision blinded him to it, all of Richie’s gentle touches and kind words. He could see it, and he wanted it all. He wanted to know what kissing Richie would feel like. He wanted to know how warm those hands were in his own, with no gloves or horrible visions to ruin it.

He wanted Richie.

He reached up and slowly touched his lips, closing his eyes and putting himself back there at the door, imagining what would have happened if he’d been able to kiss him back. To bury his fingers in that messy hair, to shove those glasses up off of Richie's face and out of the way, to hold him there and feel the unshaven shadow of his face roughing against his palms. It would have gone much, _ much _ differently if Eddie’s visions hadn’t been in the way.

And in a week, he’d finally be seeing Richie again after his show. He’d have the chance to correct his own mistake. Maybe Richie would forgive him, and they could try again.

Maybe the next kiss wouldn’t show Eddie anything.

Maybe the next kiss could just be them, getting lost in each other the way Eddie wanted to so badly.

In one week, his life was going to change for the better. He’d make sure of it.

~

The day of the Orpheum show came faster than Eddie was expecting.

In the week before, they’d managed to find Mike a new apartment-- a nice studio loft a mere twenty minute walk from the library. He wouldn’t be able to move in for another week or two, but they were able to set up a moving van and spent a couple of days packing all of Mike’s things into boxes. Mike stayed every night at theirs, and he was never in the old apartment alone, a rule decreed and carried out by Stan, his ever-present, paranoid boyfriend. Not that Eddie blamed him in the least. Mike had extended an open invitation to them both to come over anytime once he had the new place set up, and even tacked on that he would be getting two sets of apartment keys. He promised that one of them had Stan’s name all over it, to the tune of Stan going red and covering his face, only to duck it away in Mike’s shoulder.

As it stood, Mike would still be a fixture in their home for a bit longer, and Eddie couldn’t be happier. He somehow never felt like a third wheel in the room with them, and all he really cared about was that his friend was happy. They’d gone on more dates, a significantly easier thing to accomplish now that they were living together for the time being, and even went on walks together. It turned out that Stan still had the bird book Mike helped him check out when they met, and Mike had apparently manually checked the book back in and promptly ‘lost it in the system’ so Stan could keep it and avoid overdue fees. They’d brought it with them on one particular walk that lasted for hours.

Things were going so well that they had an early dinner date before the Orpheum show. The show began at 9 with the doors opening at 8, and Stan and Mike had left at 5:30 to allow for them to get back, pick up Eddie, and make it to the theater with plenty of time to spare. Stan had kissed Eddie’s forehead on the way out, and Mike made a big show of doing the same to Eddie’s amused shrieking and Stan’s laughter. He’d shooed them out with a facade of indignity and shut the door behind them.

Then he agonized over himself. Did he have anything nice to wear? What exactly did one wear to the Orpheum? It felt like the sort of place where he should be meant to wear something fancy, but this was also one of Richie’s shows. He doubted it was exactly a white tie event. And so, he stood in front of his mirror in his nicest dark jeans (a little tight perhaps, but still comfortable) and a teal polo with a blazer. He stared at himself and turned to the side. Then he turned to the other side. He wondered idly if this said ‘I fucked up and I really want to try that kiss again’ as loudly as he wanted to scream it. Perhaps he should ask Bev what she thought.

Just as he reached for his phone, the ringtone sang with Bev’s contact photo lighting up the screen. How convenient. Eddie picked the phone up from the table and answered. “Good timi-”

_ “Eddie, Richie’s gone!” _ came the desperate cry on the other line.

Eddie’s stomach bottomed out. “...What?”

_ “I went to take a shower, and when I came out, Richie wasn’t here! He left a note saying he needed to be alone before the show, but I don’t know where he is!” _ Bev sounded terrified and out of breath. _ “He didn’t say where he was going, and his phone is going straight to voicemail Eddie, he’s- he’s just gone!” _

Eddie collapsed to his knees, dropping the phone.

Richie was alone. He was somewhere out in the bowels of Los Angeles without a single soul watching out for him. Eddie had never thought that maybe his death would occur before the show. He’d been so sure it would happen after that he didn’t consider the alternatives. He never considered there would be a moment he was away from Bev. But now he was alone and defenseless.

Eddie hadn’t stopped anything.

Richie was still going to die, and there wasn’t enough time in the world left to save him.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so it was supposed to only be one more chapter, but I am bad at preplanning how many words I'll need to make scenes happen.
> 
> So here's chapter four, and this time, THIS TIME, I swear there's only one more left lol


	5. The Simple Art of Asking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol use warning in this chapter! Begins after 'And then the world fell away.' Ends at 'Richie tucked his wallet into his pocket and turned away.'

_ “Eddie!? Eddie say something! Are you there!?” _

The horrified silence of the room allowed Eddie to hear Bev’s tinny, panicked words, and he fumbled weakly at the rug until he found the phone again, pulling it back to his ear. “S-... Sorry, I just-”

_ “What do we do? Eddie, what do we do, I can’t lose him, he’s all I’ve got left, I-” _

“I know! I know, I… I don’t know, I don’t know what to-” He squeezed his eyes shut tight and forced his words around the sobbing that wanted to escape. “Just go out and look for him! Anywhere you can think of to go, just go, I’ll call Stan and Mike, I’ll call… anybody- _ somebody, _ Bev, I’ll think of something, please just _ look for him-” _

He heard Bev’s quick breathing. _ “I’m already at the car.” _

“Call me- Call me if you hear anything please, _ please _ Bev...”

_ “I will. I will, I promise,” _ Bev sobbed out before taking a sharp breath and hanging up.

Eddie immediately pulled the phone away and jabbed at his contacts to bring up Stan. He held the phone to his ear and wrenched his eyes shut against the ringing.

_ “Eddie? What is it?” _ Stan answered after the second ring.

“Richie’s in trouble,” Eddie managed, feeling the trembling in his voice. It was quaking his entire body.

_ “What!?” _

Eddie leaned his hand against his forehead and gasped a sob. “I’m sorry, I know you’re probably eating-”

_ “No, not at all, we just sat down, we can leave.” _ He heard a noise in the background that sounded like a question, and he heard Stan simply say Richie’s name away from the phone. _ “We’ll be to you in ten minutes, hold tight.” _

Eddie shook his head. “No! No, Richie’s missing, I need you out there looking! I need you to look for him and find him, check twitter and see if he’s been spotted or something, don’t waste time getting to me, please!” He sucked in a pained breath and gripped his chest. “I need your help, Stan, I have to save him, and I don’t know what else to do, I don’t-”

_ “Eddie, breathe. Breathe.” _

“I _ can’t-” _

_ “You can. Take a deep breath.” _

Eddie did so.

_ “Now hold it and listen to me.” _ Stan paused for a few seconds. _ “We’re going to look, but nobody is going to be able to find him unless we get really lucky, okay? You can’t tell where any of this happens, so if we don’t-... If we don’t find him in time, you need to know that this is not your fucking fault. It’s not your fault.” _

Eddie released the breath and sobbed again. “I’m useless, Stan. I’m so fucking useless, I can’t even use this stupid power right, I don’t know what I’m doing, I-”

_ “Eddie, that’s enough. You were born with an ability that nobody can explain, and it’s not fair to you. It’s not. Nobody expects you to move heaven and earth to fix anything; it’s too much to ask from one person. This has never, ever been fair to you, but you are doing your best. You saved Mike, and you saved Bev. You saved _ me _ fourteen years ago. You have done a lot of good with what little you get, and I am so fucking proud of you, all right?” _

Eddie sobbed silently into his hand. He didn’t know how to respond. He understood, but he didn’t feel like he was doing enough. He couldn’t believe Stan’s soft words, no matter how much he wanted to.

_ “I’m going to hang up now. Try to call Richie. Try and get a hold of him. We’ll call you if we find out anything, okay? We’ve got you, Eddie.” _

Stan didn’t wait for Eddie to answer and hung up.

The phone slipped out of Eddie’s hand again. He reached up and gripped his hair too hard in his fists, scrunching his face in agony and screaming into his knees. With as much willpower as he could muster, he lifted the phone and opened Richie’s contact. The smiling face beamed back at him like a beacon, drawing him in. He swallowed a sob and pressed the call button, pulling the phone to his ear.

The phone didn’t ring. He was instead met with the voicemail message immediately. _ “Hey! You’ve reached Richie Tozier somehow. If you’re not calling for a good time, I have no idea how you got this number. If you are, well. Leave that message and I’ll put on something a little more comfortable.” _

Eddie whimpered and hung up. He then dialed again and was met with the same voice message. He tried again. And again. And again, with increasing desperation.

Finally he let the voicemail play through to the beep. He inhaled and spoke. “Richie, I need you to pick up the phone. I need you to call Bev, I need you to get home, I need-” He sucked in a breath. “I need you. Okay, I need you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t clear last week, I-... I fucked up, not you. I really care about you, and I want to kiss you, a lot, it’s kind of all I’ve been thinking about all fucking week, and I want a damn redo, but I can’t-... I can’t do that if you’re dead. Please get this, please call me back, please call Bev, I don’t care, but get somewhere safe right fucking now or I’m coming to find you. I’m coming to fucking find you.”

He hung up and threw his phone across the room.

It was ten minutes to 6.

All he could do now was stare at the phone on the floor and wait.

The minutes ticked by. Eddie could hear every sound in the apartment. He listened to a neighbor run water and shut it off again. He listened to the last sounds of birds twittering outside on the tree and going quiet as the sun began to set. He listened to the air conditioning kick on a few times to regulate the apartment. He listened to his own, broken, quickened heartbeat. He listened to his breathing catch in his throat too many times as the silence became too much. Silence meant nobody found anything.

The sun was setting.

It had been dark, nightfall, in the vision.

They were almost out of fucking time.

Eddie curled forward, sitting on his knees and leaning until his head was pressed to the floor. “Fuck, fuck, _ fuck!” _ He slammed the floor with his fist, the noise being muffled by the carpet. “I’m so fucking useless… just sitting here… He’s gonna die and it’s all your fault, Kaspbrak.” He sobbed once into the floor, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Then they opened. He sat up and looked up at the ceiling with fury in his eyes. “I don’t know-... I don’t know who the fuck is responsible for this. I don’t know what otherworldly piece of _ shit _ put this power in my head. But whoever the fuck you are, you need to fix it. You need to do something about this because it’s not fair. I can’t see anything that can help him. I’m lucky if I see enough to help _ anyone. _ You want me to have this power so bad, you have to make it useful. I’ve been dealing with this for thirty years. You want me to have this power than _ fucking help me. _ Help me be enough.” He ducked his head again and closed his eyes. “Please let me be enough. I have to see it again. Let me see it again. Let me help him.”

And so he tried to remember. He tried to see the faces of Richie’s attackers, he tried once again to remember if there were any signs. He held tightly to the feeling of being in Richie’s body, as if trying to hug Richie from afar. He had to save him. _ He had to save him. _

He had to see.

And then the world fell away.

Just like all his visions, he began with Richie’s sight, but unlike all the other visions, it didn’t start with pain. Eddie was breathing normally, and everything seemed to be happening in real time. He felt for a moment like it was possible to control this Richie-- to push his hands against the bar top at which he was seated and walk out. He knew it didn’t work that way. But he planted his hands on the counter and tried.

Instead of moving Richie, he pulled himself out of him. The bar seemed to move in slow motion around him. He could feel things, like his own body, the temperature of the room, and his clothes against his skin. But people walked through him like he wasn’t there. Eddie looked down at his hands and wondered if this was what it felt like to be a ghost. He lifted his head to the blazer-clad back of Richie with a deep swelling in his heart.

Richie was leaning over the bar. His head was hung long, and there was a half-emptied glass of beer being ignored just by his arm. He was staring at his phone’s darkened screen, no real emotion in his face that Eddie could read. He watched Richie hold the power button, and the phone came to life with a brightly-lit logo. It dimmed to match the room, and the time glowed a proud 6:42 pm.

Then the phone hummed with dozens of missed calls he’d accumulated while it was off, from his manager, from Bev, from a couple of other numbers, and from Eddie himself. Richie’s eyes widened a barely noticeable amount, and Eddie watched his thumb hover over ‘Eds’ in his phone. At some point, he seemed to have changed it back to that sweet, short, endearing nickname, and it made Eddie’s chest threaten to cave in.

Eddie bit his lip. “Come on, Richie… Come on, call me. Listen to your voicemail, call Bev, do _ something, Richie.” _

Richie pressed his lips together in a wobbly line and turned the phone off again, setting it face down on the bar.

Eddie tried to reach out, but his hands went right through Richie, as expected. This was definitely what it felt like to be a ghost.

“Holy shit,” came a new voice that Eddie swore he recognized. “Are you Richie Tozier?”

Eddie and Richie looked over at the newcomer at the same time, and Eddie’s anger immediately began to boil.

There stood one of the men who would inevitably be there, in the alley, beating Richie to within an inch of his life. He had dark hair, long, a t-shirt with some metal band on it under a dirty jean jacket, and despite his smile, he had a face that promised danger.

“Fuck off,” Eddie tried.

“Yeah, that’d be me,” Richie said instead, forcing a smile.

The man gave a laugh. “Holy _ shit!” _ he said again, snagging the barstool beside Richie. “I’m Pat! Hockstetter. Man, you’re usually surrounded by suits,” he glanced around, as if checking to see that nobody was there with Richie.

“Yeah, well. Sometimes I like to hear myself think,” Richie mused.

Pat laughed and patted Richie’s back. “Your shows saved my life, man. You’re hilarious. Let me buy you a drink.”

Richie grinned with a smile too good for the other man. “See, now you’re speaking my language.”

Eddie scowled at Pat as he blurred through the next several minutes, watching the two men drink together and laugh. Eddie prided himself that he could tell Richie’s laughter was forced. Still, they talked and laughed and joked, and Pat did a lot of shoulder touching and back slapping and waving down more drinks when they ran out. Richie nursed his slowly, looking more and more tired as the interaction went on. But still, he cast Pat some uneven glances, looking him up and down.

Time ticked by, and Eddie watched Richie check the time on the bar’s clock. 7:27 pm. He bit his lip and looked down at the counter, as if pondering something. He took another swallow of his beer and set the glass down. “Hey listen,” he said, in the middle of whatever Pat had been saying. “I’ve got a gig I need to be at in like, thirty minutes. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough time if you, uh,” he cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “If you wanted to take this somewhere else.”

Pat’s entire demeanor shifted, and Eddie’s hackles rose. The man’s face dropped any semblance of happiness and replaced it with shock and disgust.

Richie winced. “That looks like a no.”

“What the _ fuck.” _ Pat slammed his glass down and stood.

Richie sighed and shut his eyes. “That’s definitely a no. Oh-for-two, good job, Rich.” He lifted his glass and chugged the rest of his beer.

“Are you fucking hitting on me? Are you a fucking _ faggot?” _ Pat shoved at his shoulder, and Richie caught the bar to keep from being thrown to the floor.

Richie turned a glare to Pat and righted himself. “Evidently,” he said, digging his wallet out of his pocket. “Your head was so far up my ass, you’ll _ forgive me _ if I was a little confused.”

“He bothering you, Hockstetter?” came another familiar voice. Eddie held his breath and found a second man behind Pat, sporting a shirt with sleeves ripped off at the shoulders, followed closely by a third. The new voice belonged to the man Eddie knew had the knife.

This man was the man that would kill Richie. “Just go,” Eddie begged, trying in vain to pull Richie away. “Just go, Richie, please…”

“This asshole wants my fucking dick,” Pat responded to his friend.

The second man stepped forward faster than he looked like he could move and jabbed Richie in the shoulder so hard, Eddie felt it. Richie held his arms up immediately in defense. “Fuck, back off! I made a mistake, all right!?”

“Hey, if you guys have a problem, you need to take that shit outside,” came the warning words from the bartender.

Richie kept his hands up, but kept his bitter gaze on the men trying to crowd him. “No problems here.”

The bartender gave them all a cautious stare. Eddie frowned at him. “Do something, you fuck. It’s three on one, do something.” But of course, the man didn’t. He walked away to the end of the bar to tend to some other customers.

Richie lowered his hands enough to open his wallet and pulled out several twenties. “I’m sorry I misunderstood your intentions. I’m sorry you were only buying me a damn drink to talk about my shitty routine, which if you really like it, I’ll give you my writer’s number, I’m sure his ego could use stroking. I made a mistake,” he repeated, “And obviously I didn’t know you were _ spoken for,” _ Richie spat, eyeing the man with the mullet. He dropped the twenties, easily eighty dollars, on the counter by his empty beer mug. “Buy a round and use the extra to get yourself something nice. Like a fucking haircut.” With that, Richie tucked his wallet into his pocket and turned away.

Eddie watched the new man slam his hand on the cash and stuff it in his shirt pocket before jerking his head after Richie. The three of them followed him a good distance behind.

Eddie blinked, and all at once, he was at Richie’s side again. Richie’s hands were tucked deep into his pockets, and he looked humiliated and upset all over again. His mouth seemed to be set in a permanent frown, and his eyes were red, fighting a round a tears. Eddie kept on trying to touch him, to take his face in his hands and tell him it was okay, but he couldn’t grasp the fog of what would be.

Then Richie paused. He pulled his phone out of his pocket again and turned it back on, at 7:35 pm, watching as all the missed calls and messages popped up again. He took a deep breath and selected the voicemail.

Eddie watched with bated breath as he barely made out the distorted sound of his own voice. _ “Richie, I need you to pick up the phone-” _

Richie was suddenly struck in the back of the head with a fist. Eddie felt it hum through his own body, echoing the bruise he knew he’d felt Richie receive the last dozen times he had this vision. But now it felt far away. Eddie could watch it all happen now with perfect clarity.

It was just as bad as he thought.

Richie’s phone hit the ground and his glasses flew off in some unseen direction. Pat grabbed the back of Richie’s collar and nearly threw the unsteady man into the nearest alley. The rest blurred together. The callous remarks, Richie sarcastic responses and the sounds of his ribs cracking and his breath heaving. Pat goaded the beating, and now that Eddie could focus on everything, he studied those angry faces as they swung their fists and threw their kicks. He focused so hard that he was able to find something he’d never been able to before in the aether. He found identities. He found _ names, _ whispered in his ear like secrets.

Patrick Hockstetter.

Henry Bowers.

Victor Criss.

No matter what happened now, he knew exactly who was responsible for Richie’s death, and they would not get away with any of it if it killed him.

Bowers drew the knife from his pocket, and Eddie’s blood ran cold. He watched him hold it over his head, ready to bring it down, and Eddie’s hands drew into fists. “No!” he shouted, planting his feet in a fighting stance. “No, you don’t get to hurt him this time! _ You don’t get to take him from me!” _

And then everything stopped. There was no sound. There was no movement. Eddie carefully opened his eyes and looked around, and he found the scene frozen. Bowers was in mid swing, the knife stopped mere inches from Richie’s stomach. Richie was bruised and bloodied and staring toward the mouth of the alley, eyes begging for somebody, _ anybody _ to come in and help, blissfully unaware for that last, precious second what was coming. Pat was frozen with his fists out, a look of amusement on his face as if a man wasn’t being murdered before his eyes.

To Victor’s credit, the knife seemed to come as a bit of a shock. He was distancing himself, and he had the good sense to look at least a little upset by the turn of events.

Eddie turned away from it all and walked out of the alley. Everything was still. He looked at the frozen people walking around, watching none of them notice what was happening barely thirty feet away. He walked around the cars that had been moving so fast, their lights left streaks like long exposure photos in this frozen world. He saw the flashing lights of the police a few blocks away, wailing and speeding their way to some other emergency, so close and yet so far from the tragedy happening close by. Eddie looked up at the bar, it’s neon lighting now easily visible. Then he looked at the nearest street sign and its cross-street.

Top Cat bar on the corner of Central and 5th. Richie hadn’t made it a block away before the men grabbed him and tossed him into the alley like he was trash.

Eddie paced carefully back to where he knew Richie was lying, seconds from dying. He paused only for a moment to look down at Richie’s shattered phone. The screen was still dutifully lit behind a spider-webbed glass, the time reading 7:44 pm. Richie would not make it to 8 o’clock.

Eddie walked past the phone and back into the alley, passing bins of old, cracked drywall, rusted pipes, and garbage along the way. He made it back to the scene and knelt down by Richie’s head. He reached out and found, in this still world where nothing he did had effects or consequences, he could finally touch Richie’s face. He brushed the hair from his eyes and held his head carefully, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I won’t let this happen to you, Richie. I won’t let you die.”

The world spun again, and Eddie’s view went black.

When he finally came to in the real world, he gasped for air, but it was less like he’d been strangled and more like he’d just come up from jumping feet first into a pool. He was lying on the ground, staring at the tiles in his ceiling again, and he shot up. He checked his phone.

7:17 pm.

He immediately opened an app and sent for a car to take him to the Top Cat bar. A twenty-five minute drive with a driver who was one minute away.

He had to risk it. He had to try.

He threw on his shoes and made it to the lobby in record time, busting out of the door with so much force it bounced against the hinging. He found his driver waiting there right on time. He nearly dove into the back seat without so much as a hello.

“To Top Cat?” asked the driver, who Eddie could care less if she actually matched the photo on the app.

“I have a hundred dollar tip for you if you speed,” he said instead of properly answering, tone steady and eyes dead serious.

The girl blinked at him from her mirror and put the car in drive. “You’d better buckle up, man.”

~

Twenty minutes and three blown red lights later, and they were nearly there. He could see the neon of the bar in the distance, and he knew that Richie was only precious minutes away. His phone glowed a threatening 7:39 pm as they slowed to a crawl blocks from where he needed to be. Traffic was packed on every road, likely heading for the Orpheum and god knows what other events there were on a Saturday night.

“Shit, this road’s slammed. Looks like I’ll get you there on time after all,” the driver offered.

“This is far enough, I’ll walk, thank you.” He quickly sent the money off, the hundred he’d promised, and threw the door open, leaping to freedom.

He barely registered the shocked thank you from the car’s open window as he ran. He collided with the crowd, not once paying any mind to the fear that bubbled just under his skin. He had no gloves, he’d left the apartment without his heavy coat, and he was having to weave through the throes of people without a single ounce of protection.

But he didn’t care. He had to make it there.

He felt a soft tingling in the back of his mind as he dodged through the crowd. It was as if the visions wanted to happen, but they couldn’t quite push past Eddie’s focus. They were asking permission instead of knocking him off his feet. Eddie was telling them ‘no’, and they were listening.

He could get there.

He _ had _ to get there.

He broke free from the crowd and beelined right past the Top Cat. He barely cast a glance downward as he saw the soft light that was Richie’s phone, already broken and gently providing the time anyway.

7:44 pm.

“No, no, _ no, no…” _ He had to still have time. _ He had to make it in time. _

Eddie pumped his legs faster as he neared the alley, reaching out to the bins he saw and yanking a pipe free. He rounded the corner and did not stop.

Bowers’ knife was above his head.

Eddie gave a veritable battle cry and gripped the pipe so tightly in his hands, his knuckles went white. The cry send Pat and Victor reeling back in shock, but Bowers didn’t have time to back away. Eddie swung and connected the pipe with the side of his head. The knife clattered to the ground.

Bowers fell to the side, still conscious and with barely enough coordination to crawl away from the sudden defender. Eddie stepped over Richie’s fallen form and planted his feet on either side of his torso, brandishing his pipe like it was a sword. “Back up! Back the _ fuck up!!” _

_ “...Eds…?” _ He heard Richie’s weak gasp from behind him. It made Eddie want to drop everything and curl around Richie and tell him everything was okay now. But they weren’t out of the woods yet.

Bowers struggled to his feet with the help of Pat. He glared Eddie down and made to step forward again. “You sonova-”

“Try it, fucker!” Eddie was snarling, swinging the pipe again, ready to knock any limb that got too close. He hoped to God he timed this right. “I already called the cops!”

Bowers scoffed. Eddie held his breath.

And the siren’s cry began to sing in the distance.

Victor booked it, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Hockstetter grabbed at Bowers’ shoulder, but he didn’t stick around much longer either, hurrying after their other friend.

Only Bowers remained. For a few fleeting seconds, Eddie was terrified that the threat of cops didn’t matter to this man. He’d keep going. He’d keep trying. Eddie knew that he absolutely could not match Bowers in strength whatsoever. If Bowers stayed and fought, Eddie would lose and probably die.

But as the siren’s wail grew ever closer, Bowers backed away. He cast one last warning glance at Eddie and high-tailed it after his friends.

Eddie dropped the pipe on the ground a few seconds after Bowers disappeared. _ “Fuck,” _ he cursed, doubling over and putting his hands on his knees. The energy of the last hour hit him like the bus that had missed its chance. He was exhausted. His legs felt like capsizing.

But Richie was alive.

Behind them, the police cars sped right on past the alley, off to wherever they were meant to go, and Eddie took a deep stabilizing breath.

“Eds…?” came the inquisitive sound of Richie’s shaky voice again.

“Yeah, Rich?”

“Cops just passed us.”

“They sure did.”

He heard Richie attempt a chuckle, broken by a weak cough and grunt of pain. “You were- You were bluffing.”

Eddie laughed as well, planting his hands on his hips and leaning back in a stretch. “You should see me play poker. Stan only lives with me because he’s broke.”

Richie attempted another laugh, softer now and more successfully. Then after a few seconds, Eddie felt a careful hand on his calf. “Not that this isn’t a _ stellar _ view, but I think it’s- it’s time to call the real deal now.”

Eddie cursed again and stepped over Richie, dropping to his knees beside him. “Shit, shit, sorry, you’re right.”

Richie coughed and gripped at his chest. “...I do that sometimes.”

Eddie yanked his light blazer off and bunched it up. “Can you lift your head?”

“I th-... I think so.”

“Okay, do it real fast for me, ready?” Eddie position the jacket behind Richie’s head. “One, two, _ three.” _

Richie lifted his head from the unforgiving pavement and cried out in agony as the move must have tensed against his broken ribs. Eddie shoved the jacket forward, catching Richie’s head as it dropped back down. Eddie cradled his head through the jacket for a few seconds before sliding his hands out from under him. “There. Better?”

“Muh-... Mildly. Could use a lap.”

“Tough shit, you get my jacket.” Eddie pulled his phone out of his pocket and immediately dialed 911, holding the phone to his ear.

_ “911, what is the nature of your emergency?” _

“There’s a man injured three buildings north of the Top Cat bar on 5th and Central, he needs medical attention immediately.” Eddie wasted no time giving them the location. He watched Richie’s chest rise and fall, listening for any dangerous halting that might indicate internal bleeding.

_ “Is he conscious?” _

“Barely,” Eddie said, giving Richie’s battered face a careful glance.

Richie lifted his arm and nudged Eddie’s leg, keeping his hand away. “Gettin’... gettin’ kinda sleepy, Eds.”

Eddie bit his lip. “I know, I know, it’s okay.”

_ “An ambulance is already on its way to you. What’s your name?” _

“Eds.” Eddie squeezed his eyes shut. “Er, Eddie. It’s Eddie.”

Richie managed another weak laugh. “I heard that.” Eddie smiled at him.

_ “Eddie, do you know how this man was injured?” _

“He was beaten,” Eddie said without hesitation. “By Henry Bowers, Pat Hockstetter, and Victor Criss. I think Bowers was going to stab him, he left a knife.”

_ “You witnessed the beating?” _

Eddie nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

_ “All right, if that knife is still on site, I need you to not touch it, okay, Eddie?” _

“Won’t even think about it.”

_ “Do you know the identity of the victim?” _

“Richie Tozier.”

_ “Thank you, Eddie. Ambulance should be nearing your location. Can you hear the sirens?” _

Eddie pulled the phone away for a moment and listened, and sure enough the tell-tale sounds of an inbound ambulance were right around the corner. “I hear them. I hear it, they’re close.” He leaned over Richie a bit and smiled. “They’re almost here, Richie, you’re gonna be fine, okay?”

_ “It’s going to be all right, Eddie.” _

Eddie nodded weakly and shut his eyes. “Thank you.” And he hung up. He gave the sky and exhausted sob and covered his face with his hand, phone now forgotten on the ground.

“You did-... did good, Eds.” Richie shivered and gave Eddie another smile, leaning his hand over. The back of it brushed against Eddie’s bare arm, and Eddie went still.

There was no vision. There was no tingle of something in his mind, begging to be seen. There was just Richie’s warm fingers, weakly brushing against him. Eddie stifled another sob.

Richie seemed to flinch and leaned his hand away. “Sorry-”

Eddie reached out and caught that hand on midair. He laced their fingers together and held that hand tight between both of his own. “It’s okay, Richie. I’ve got you.” He watched Richie’s consciousness slowly leave him as the ambulance finally parked by the alley, but he wasn’t worried. He knew if Richie were still in danger, he’d see it. He’d know. So instead, he held tight to that hand and brushed the hair out of Richie’s sleeping face.

“I’ve _ got you.” _

~

He called Bev first. She was, as it turned out, Richie’s emergency contact, not that it was any surprise, but he wanted her to be the first to know that Richie was alive. After that, he called Stan, telling him to meet them at the hospital. They reconvened, meeting Eddie in the waiting room and burying him in a tight hug. He basked in the warmth of them all, closing his eyes and leaning heavily into the hold.

Richie was in surgery by the time they all arrived, and three of them sat on their anxiety, paced the room, and asked the poor desk clerk too many questions at once.

Eddie just sat and waited. He held Bev’s hand when she came to sit by him and ask about what he saw, if he was sure Richie would be okay, if the beating was very bad. And he promised her over and over that Richie would be fine.

He only left his friends momentarily when the police arrived. They pulled Eddie aside to question what had happened, and Eddie told him everything that he knew. He gave them the names, not bothering to mention how he knew them. He gave them the location of the bar where there altercation had started. He told them what he saw in the alley before the perpetrators ran off. He gave them everything he could possibly know just by being a bystander.

And then he returned and sat there, the pillar of calm amongst his sea of panicked friends. He held Bev’s hand, he let her and Stan lean on his shoulders, he got Mike a coffee while Stan laid his head in Mike’s lap.

At 10:23 pm, the doctor finally came back out to see them all, and Eddie could see the smile on her face from a mile away. “Are you all here for Richie Tozier?”

Bev rocketed to her feet immediately, and Eddie followed suit. “Yes! We are, is he okay?”

The doctor held her hand out to Bev to calm her down. “He’s going to be just fine. He’s got a few bruises and we had to do surgery to keep his ribs from puncturing his lungs, but we expect he’s going to make a full recovery.”

Eddie watched everyone deflate with relief. And even though he’d known it was coming, maybe he felt a little relief as well. Richie would live. He’d make a full recovery.

Eddie had finally fixed everything.

Bev gave an ecstatic laugh and gripped Eddie’s hand hard. “When can- When can we see him?” she asked.

The doctor pondered for a moment. “Well he is resting at the moment, but I really should only allow family in for now.”

“Let Bev in,” Eddie said before he could even think about the words. Bev turned a startled eye to him. Eddie continued. “She’s his emergency contact, she lives with him, they’ve known each other since they were kids. If he wants anyone there when he wakes up, it’s her.”

The doctor tilted her head and weighed her options. She looked at Bev for a moment and gave her a short nod. “All right. But the rest of you should go home and get some rest. You’ve had a rough day, especially you.” She pointed at Eddie.

“Yeah, especially you, Eddie,” Bev teased, with absolutely nothing but love behind the barb. She moved to him and tossed her arms around Eddie’s head, pulling him close and kissing his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip. “Thank you for being there.”

Eddie held her back just as tightly and nodded into her shoulder. “I couldn’t let him die.”

She pulled away with a wobbly smile, kissing her hand and laying it on Eddie’s cheek as she pulled away. She followed the doctor down the hall and around the corner, presumably to Richie’s room.

Stan reached out and took Eddie’s hand. “Come on, Eddie. You’re exhausted.”

Eddie let Stan lead him out without any argument. He _ was _ exhausted. He felt like the moment he hit the bed, he’d be out like a light, and he’d be lucky if he even made it that far.

The drive home was quiet. Mike took the wheel, and Stan sat in the back with Eddie, holding his head against his shoulder and soothing his hair back. The only question came when they were a few minutes from the apartment, from Stan as he looked down at Eddie’s bare arms. “How did you find him?”

Eddie thought about his answer for a while. He closed his eyes and tried to put into words what had happened. Did he say that he demanded that the gods let him see it all over again so he could stop it? Did he talk about how he forced himself to see the vision as an outsider looking in so he could figure out exactly what happened? Did he explain how everything suddenly changed?

Instead, he gave a soft laugh and lifted his head to look at Stan. “I asked.”

~

Two weeks had passed since Richie was admitted to the hospital. Word had clearly gotten out about the attack, as he’d missed his big show, and his manager wanted to drum up as much sympathy as possible. The hospital had to keep any and all visitors from Richie’s room unless they were his manager, Bev, or his lawyer until the influx of attention finally calmed down.

They kept him those two weeks, hidden behind protective doctors and nurses, away from prying eyes, to give him the most time to heal from his extensive injuries.

It had been two weeks since Eddie had seen him.

Not like this was unexpected. Richie was famous, and they couldn’t allow people to parade around him without risking his health. And it wasn’t as if he was wanting for updates. He received photos and selfies from Bev every single day, and he saved every single one. He made one shot of Richie asleep with a straw stuck in his nose via Bev (who was giving a thumbs up in the peripheral of the picture) Richie’s new contact photo, at least until he could let Richie see it just to get a rise out of him.

The background of Eddie’s phone never changed. It was still that sunny photo of a smiling boy with no expectations and a great, long future ahead of him.

Eddie had saved that smile, and he intended to keep it that way.

It was now two weeks since Richie was admitted to the hospital, and he was finally out. And Eddie, as well as Stan and Mike, had been sequestered from their schedules that morning to Richie’s apartment, where Bev had been deep in the throes of party preparation. She’d given them tasks to complete and headed off to the hospital, where she would collect Richie discreetly from the back door and drive him home.

Everything was decorated, food was out and ready and the only thing missing now was the man of the hour. Eddie could barely breathe.

The front door of the spacious apartment was unlocked to the tune of Richie complaining about something on the other side, and Eddie could only grin.

“--I mean it, Bev, if I see another flower, I might actually scream,” Richie continued as the lock turned.

“I guess this is a bad time to remind you of the dozen hawaiian shirts you have tucked in your closet then, huh?” he heard Bev tease.

Richie groaned. “Oh god, I’m a _ menace.” _

“I have been trying to tell you that for years.”

The door was opened, and Richie walked in first, Bev just behind him shouldering his bag. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Mike flipped the light on.

_ “Surprise!!” _ It wasn’t very cacophonous of a yell, being only three of them, but Richie’s mouth dropped open as if he’d just been greeted by a room completely packed full of people.

“You guys!” Richie threw his arms in the air, and Mike immediately descended upon him. He wrapped his arms around Richie, who hugged him back and gave a small wince. “‘Ey, all right, easy there farmer John, I’m reinforced with metal, not made of steel.”

Mike laughed as he pulled away. “Sorry. S’just good to see you in one piece.” He helped him down the few wide steps leading from the door.

Richie gave a shrug. “Eh, several pieces being held together with a prayer, but ya know.” He turned a grin to him. “Good to see you too.”

Stan made his way to him next and put his arms around his shoulders rather than his waist. “You scared us there for a minute there, Richie.”

Richie laughed and hugged Stan with all the force he could muster, which admittedly at the moment didn’t seem like a lot. “Stan! Stan the man, Stan bam-a-lam!” He rocked them back and forth on his feet.

Stan rolled his eyes and pulled away. “Okay, I’m voting we send him back to the hospital.”

Richie pouted. “Oh god, please don’t, I’ll behave. Pf I see another beige wall, I’m gonna be sick.” He took another step inside and turned his gaze away from Stan.

Right onto Eddie. Eddie felt his nerves choreograph and entire recital in his gut as he locked onto the eyes, tucked behind the safety of new glasses and looking wide and startled at his presence there. Eddie had no way of knowing if Richie was still upset with him. He wouldn’t hold it against him if he was. Eddie didn’t want his saving of Richie’s life to make the other man feel obligated to be okay with him again. Eddie took a soft breath and stepped forward, hands away in his pockets as if nothing had changed. It was an old habit he knew it would be tough to break.

Richie blinked. “H-... Hey Eds,” he said behind an awed smile.

Eddie could only smile back, just happy seeing him standing there on a day when he shouldn’t be alive. The fact that he was here at all meant that Eddie wasn’t useless. He could be brave, and he could save the people he cared about. He was strong enough.

He was enough.

“Hey, trashmouth.” He gestured vaguely to Richie. “You’d better start eating decent food again or Bev’s gonna have to tailor everything you own.”

Richie’s nervous facade broke with a laugh as he looked down at himself. “Yeah, hospital food isn’t exactly the greatest of foods, especially when I kept finding creative ways to not eat any of it. The jello was good though, when I _ got it.” _ He shot a warning stare to Bev, who wrinkled her nose at him with a teasing grin and stuck out her tongue.

Eddie laughed and ducked his head. “Well, start with the cake Stan made you, and we’ll get you filling out those god-awful shirts of yours in no time.”

Richie gasp and turned to his dining table, where food had been set out for all of them. “There’s cake!? Why the fuck didn’t you guys tell me there was cake!?” He threw his arms up as dramatically as he could muster without being in pain and marched straight for the table. “Everybody outta my goddamn way, and get me a fucking fork!”

The laughter and joy kept on going until after the sun had set. They ate and cracked jokes, and they talked about anything and everything they could think of. Bev told Richie that she’d gotten in touch with Ben, and he’d be flying out to come see him in a couple of weeks. Mike had wondered if it would be out of bounds to invite his friend Bill, who he knew desperately needed a vacation and would absolutely love to meet the friends Mike had made (and also to tease Stan, who had come to love the man’s books no matter what he claimed to the contrary). Plans were solidified, and they were all ecstatic for their lovely little group of five to become seven.

Night fell, and they all sprawled out over Richie’s massive, L-shaped couch to enjoy movies they remembered from their childhoods. Everybody got a pick, and nobody wanted to leave until they’d seen each one.

Eddie felt content. He was there in loose fitting pants and a hoodie, snuggled into the cushions of Richie’s ridiculously comfortable couch watching Bill and Ted beating Death at a game of Battleship. The sun was gone, the lights were low, and an air of ease had settled over the room.

A piece of popcorn suddenly struck Eddie in the side of the face, and he flinched. He turned to the guilty party and found Richie there, not with a look a mischief as he was expecting, but a face of concern. He thumbed behind him toward the balcony doors. “Have you got a sec?” He asked, low against the volume of the television.

Eddie swallowed his nerves. “Yeah. Sure, of course.”

Richie set the bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table and stood up slowly. Eddie stood as well, turning to the others only when he heard someone shift on the couch. “You want us to pause it?” Stan asked, reaching for the remote.

Richie waved him off. “Nah, I’ve seen this a million times, it was my pick, you guys enjoy. We won’t be long anyway.”

“Don’t throw each other over the balcony, okay, we went through a lot of trouble to keep you assholes alive,” Bev said, not moving her eyes from the screen and grabbing a handful of the surrendered popcorn.

Richie rounded the couch and scowled. “Don’t eat all my popcorn, Bev. I mean it, there better be some left when I get back.”

“No promises!”

Richie rolled his eyes and led the way out the glass doors, pushing aside the vertical blinds in the way.

Eddie followed until he reached the door and gave his friends one more cursory glance. He spotted Bev facing the balcony now, only her eyes visible over the back of the couch, but she spun away immediately once she’d seen that she’d been spotted. Eddie turned away with a blush, shoving the blinds aside as well and following Richie out. He shut the glass door and sighed, looking at his barely there reflection. It got lost among the slits of light streaming out from the living room, but he could still tell that he looked scared of something.

But he had to face it eventually. So he turned around and looked at Richie again, shoving his hands in his hoodie. “Are you okay?” Eddie asked, masking his nerves with concern.

Richie was leaning against the wall that separated his balcony from the neighbors. He looked a little confused for a second before he shook it off. “What? No, yeah, I’m-... I’m fine, I just-” Richie’s eyes closed, and he bumped his hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I owe you a fucking apology.”

Eddie stared. “What? No you don’t-”

“I do. Okay, lemme finish.” Richie’s own hands tucked themselves into the pockets of his pants, looking like a thin reed ready to blow away in the wind. “I hurt you. I know I did, calling you a liar, when obviously you were just trying to help me.” He looked down at his socked feet. “I didn’t listen, I was angry for no reason, and then I almost died. I scared all of you because I didn’t listen.”

Eddie frowned at him. “You weren’t angry ‘for no reason’, Richie. Your feelings were hurt, it’s okay to be mad about that.”

“But-”

“It doesn’t _ matter _ what wound up being true. The fact is that you reacted like every single normal human being would when something upsetting happens.” Eddie’s hands slowly retracted from his hoodie, drifting to his sides. “It is not your fault that some assholes decided to be complete and total dickbags over you misreading one guy’s intentions.”

Richie went pale. And then he went red, closing his eyes and keeping his head low. “I-...I’m not used to being-... I never told-...” He pursed his lips with a huff and took a deep, slow breath. “I never told anybody but Bev that I-... that I’m gay. She’s probably known for years before I even did, what with all of my overcompensating, and the lies I tell people on the daily. I’ve always been afraid of it, so I just kept it all in. Every time I thought it was safe to let it out, I had it thrown back in my face. I was punched in high school, I was talked out of being myself in any of my shows as soon as I got big, and never ever let myself feel things.”

Richie looked up slowly and finally met Eddie’s eyes. “And then some asshole tried to get himself run over by a bus, and there it all was again like a big, gay neon sign.”

Eddie gave a bark of laughter and ducked his gaze away from Richie’s, letting the smile take over his face. When he looked back up, Richie had looked away again, this time over the lit up streets of downtown Los Angeles.

“And then you pulled away from me like I was disgusting. And I remembered why I didn’t want to feel things anymore.”

Eddie’s heart was clenching in his chest. “It wasn’t-”

“It’s fine, Eds. It’s okay that you don’t like me like that, because you still accept me for who I fucking am. And that means-... that means way more than I can ever say. If I’d have figured that out earlier, maybe I wouldn’t have tried to shoot my shot at some homophobic prick with back-up hanging in the wings just to feel something.”

Eddie couldn’t breathe. Richie had it all wrong.

And Eddie would be damned if he wasn’t going to fix it.

In seconds, he’d crossed the balcony, stepping over a lounge chair until he was less than a foot from Richie. Richie’s eyes opened in time to widen at his proximity, and Eddie wasted no time lifting his hands to Richie’s face and planting his lips over Richie’s still, parted ones.

He pulled away after a full ten seconds of just feeling those trembling lips on his own, dry but so, so soft. Richie had kissed back, but when Eddie leaned away, he saw that Richie’s eyes were still closed and his face betrayed pain. He finally opened his eyes and gave Eddie a woeful smile. “...So what’s the prognosis…?” he asked, sounding small and scared. “Am I gonna live, doc?”

Eddie huffed a sigh. Richie didn’t think this kiss meant anything. He smiled back without a single trace of sadness in it and ran his thumb over Richie’s unbruised cheek to catch a tear that escaped. “I knew you were going to live back in that alley, you moron.”

Richie’s sad eyes widened. “You-... Then why-”

“Because three weeks ago I couldn’t kiss you back without watching you die, and now there isn’t a damn thing standing in my way.” And with that, Eddie propped himself up on his toes and captured those lips with his own again. He dropped his hands to Richie’s waist, fisting the fabric of his shirt in his hands and tilted his head into it.

Richie trembled, his hands worrying the air for a few moments before coming to land on the back of Eddie’s head. Those long fingers carded through his short hair, and it was the most exquisite thing he’d ever felt. He sighed against Richie’s mouth, and Richie opened his lips further, taking the noise as an invitation.

Eddie immediately had to rescind his last thought; Richie’s tongue against his own was the most exquisite thing he’d ever felt. And he hoped that they would never stop finding more exquisite things to do to each other.

“You know,” Richie muttered through the kisses. “I definitely called you cute when you-” He kissed him again. “-were unconscious.”

Eddie laughed against Richie’s lips and felt him shudder in response. “Oh yeah?”

Richie only nodded pulling away briefly to look into Eddie’s eyes. “I also think those pants you were in when you saved me were the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, so I demand you wear those more often.”

Eddie grinned at him and reached one hand up to pluck Richie’s glasses off of his face and lob them onto the lounge chair. “Oh you think you can make _ demands _ now, huh? I’ll have you know we’re even now, you’d better work to deserve those jeans.”

Richie gave a laugh of surprise. “As long as I get the chance to try.” He squinted his eyes a bit, running his fingers over Eddie’s scalp again. “It’s uh-... kinda hard to see you without my glasses.”

“Mm,” Eddie felt his own grin get mischievous. “Better get closer, then.” He kissed him again and felt Richie grow completely lax in his arms. He leaned Richie back against the wall, trailing his kisses down to Richie’s jaw and along his neck as Richie’s head dropped back against the concrete-

“I _ really _ hate to interrupt,” came Bev’s sudden voice. They both jumped, and Richie, to Eddie’s surprise and amusement, ducked his head so low it was tucked against Eddie’s shoulder in embarrassment. Bev grinned and continued. “Especially since I think I just won money from somebody. But this _ definitely _ qualifies as vigorous and strenuous activity.”

Richie made a small noise of discontent against Eddie’s skin.

Bev laughed. “Get your butts back inside before you freeze out here.”

“Yes, mom,” Richie whined through Eddie’s shirt. Eddie buried his face in Richie’s hair and snickered.

Bev shut the door behind her and gave them another minute alone. Eddie ran his fingers through Richie’s hair before pulling him from his shoulder to look at him. “Don’t be nervous. Don’t be scared. Everybody in that room loves you. You’re allowed to be you in there.”

Richie gave a short laugh and leaned into Eddie’s hands. “Just in that room, huh?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and flicked him in the ear. “Okay, I feel rather warmly for you as well. The point is, asshole: those are your friends. And if you’re too afraid to be you anywhere else, you know you can be you with them. You don’t have to be brave with them.” He pressed another kiss to his lips. “You’re gonna have to say yes, because I’m not about to stop holding your hand tonight.”

He watched Richie’s eyes slowly melt with want and something soft. Richie inhaled sharply and tugged Eddie in for one more kiss. “Nothing I’d rather hold.” He smiled. Then he looked down and smirked. “At least, not that I’m allowed.”

Eddie snorted. “Oh god, shut _ up, _ you’re unbearable.” He turned away and snagged Richie’s glasses from the chair, placing them gently on his face again, careful of the stitch across his nose.

Richie kissed Eddie’s nose as soon as he could see it. “Well you’re the sucker who wanted this. You can’t back out now, it’s too late; I’ve imprinted.”

Eddie tilted his head to kiss him once more on the lips. “Oh, what a tragedy. Does that mean I have to kiss you _ all the time?” _ He kissed him once more to make his point clear. “I guess I’ll just have to suffer.”

He took Richie’s hand and led him back inside. The energy of the couch said that not a second before the door slid open again, every head had been facing the balcony. As soon as they were inside, every eye was mechanically locked on the movie.

Eddie let Richie sit back in his comfortable corner, a large, soft pillow leaning into his bad side. Eddie sat beside him and lifted Richie’s arm, pulling it around his shoulders and snuggling into his hold. Richie stared at him in awe for a few seconds before smiling to himself and pressing a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. Eddie studied the rest of the room after they’d settled in, finding Bev fighting a grin and losing a battle against herself to keep from looking over at them. Mike was happy to watch the movie, but he had a content and knowing smile on his face.

Stan was barely paying attention to the movie anymore. He was beaming at Eddie, his hand leaning against his mouth in an attempt to stifle the glee, unsuccessfully. Eddie smiled back and knew, deep down, that Stan’s look said ‘I told you so’.

Eddie could only remember once in his life that he’d been this happy. He’d been lying in a bed, curled around Stan and thinking that, for once, everything was okay.

Perhaps he was happier now than he had been then. As a boy, the future was still terrifying, and he never knew if anything he did was ever worth it, or if he was just some punching bag for fate to laugh at. He knew nothing. Now, he did. He knew, without a doubt, that everything was going to be okay. He wasn’t afraid of his visions, and he wasn’t afraid of the future.

He wasn’t afraid anymore, and as Richie’s thumb traced little patterns against his collar bone, writing little cursive promises and roadmaps and plans into his veins, he knew he never would be again.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1k hits, and I'm giving this bitch an epilogue. >:V CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I'm full of shit, and I'm finishing this fic first LOL


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